Absolution - Book One: The Beginning
by Nymph Du Pave
Summary: Slash w/ Angst: Lex awakes. Chapter 12, aka FINALE, is up! [whole story follows the 11-06-01 episode 'X-Ray'] {The beginning of Book 2 coming soon}.
1. Breakable

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: One - Breakable   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Lex tries not to think at all.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: I love whatever you happen to throw my way :o)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com 

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**ABSOLUTION**   
  


**Chapter 1: Breakable**

_…one foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other…_   
  
  
Lex Luther ran, as hard as he could, fighting the thoughts, ignoring the physical pain, focusing on the one thing that both kept him at bay and kept him alive inside.   
  
  
_…kent…_   
  
  
He blinked against the salty perspiration tracking its way into his eyes again. He had long since stopped trying to wipe it away. He long since stopped paying attention to time and distance. He had no watch, and didn't care where he ended up.   
  
  
_…just keep going…_   
  
  
He had been running for more than an hour he was sure, as the sun had been in the far distance when he started. Now the moon and stars lit up the otherwise drab canvas that was the farms and fields at night in Smallville. Lex didn't remember the sun going down, couldn't recall the colors lining the sky in their unique formations. He didn't regret not observing the nightly waltz, feeling as though even the perfect coordination of a glorious sunset would have done his mind no peace. 

His white tee-shirt [certainly the only one he owned] fluttered against his chest and stomach as a light breeze hit him, warm and muggy. It was drenched and translucent and as he ran from underneath some of the overhanging tree branches, his pale skin was illuminated by the moon's light, actually seeming lighter than his shirt. 

As his feet pounded against the pavement, an unsolicited memory from earlier that afternoon continued fight its way just under the surface of Lex's cognizance. He wasn't going to let it come, not without a fight.   
  
  
_..."Trust me, when I make things disapear, they stay buried."..._   
  
  
Another memory. From last week. Talking to the reporter from _The Inquisitor_ about his failed blackmail attempt. Talk about a mistake. 

Lex tried to get hooked back into the hypnotic sound of his feet, his breathing, tried to focus on the feeling of his heart thumping, heathly but vastly mistreated. 

It was no use. The memory threatened to break through the barriers he had so carefully put up in his mind, thereby forcing him to face what he would rather ignore. He had tried to cram it into the recess of his subconscious, but, unfortunately, the longer he ran, the more he realized just how full that recess already was. Filled to the brim with other worries, problems and things-to-not-think-about, he could no longer go on with his tragic efforts. You cannot drown a memory in a pool so shallow and so full. 

It broke to the surface, startling him with it's clarity and color, not to mention the return of the ominous feeling he had suffered in the pit of his gut during the actual experience.   
  
  
_…"I'm afraid so, Luther. The lab says despite the lack of clear physical residue- you know blood, hair-"   
"Yes." Lex's eyes, focusing on the trashed car, slit against the accusatory tone directed so bluntly at him. "I follow."   
"Well, the-_ imprints- _are evidence supporting your story. That you really did hit someone with your car. That you really did-"   
Lex turned his darkened eyes to the greedy, humor filled ones before him. "I've got it."   
Roger Nixon grinned at him, malicious in his obvious hatred for the young man. "So who'd you run over at 60 miles an hour?"…_   
  
  
Lex had flexed his fingers, stretching them, then curling them back into a tight, white-knuckled ball. Remembering the incident now, he caught himself repeating the same mannerism without even thinking about it. 

Knocking the reporter to the ground had been very tempting. Taking out his confusion and frustration at the car and Clark's completely unharmed body on the downed man, beating him to a submissive little blob… It would have been very satisfying and would have taken his mind, at least temporarily, off the perplexing automobile accident. But never one to resort to physical tactics, Lex had gone for the man's metaphorical jugular instead.   
  
  
_…"Remember our little- deal." His mouth shook out the last word, brimming with inner rage and hatred for the blackmailing son of a bitch. "Your brother is in a very unfavorable position here." He paused to see the fear slam back into the man's posture and face, then continued with a sneer, making sure Nixon knew just who to hold responsible. "Thanks to you and your 'idea' of freedom of speech."   
A slow and steady inhale had followed Lex's carefully chosen words. "I remember our deal."   
"Good. Keep it that way. And if news of this-" he gestured with his open palm at the car beside him. "Gets out to anyone…_ Any. One. _I will hold you and your brother personally responsible."..._   
  
  
Lex had then tossed the reporter, now his media-control device, out of his garage and mansion. He had told no one else about the car or his investigation into it. He knew Nixon could hunt out the story of the accident, probably would, but he couldn't seem to force himself to care about that right now. All he could see, think, hear, feel… Was the damn car. The dented and shattered car. 

The dented and shattered car that should have left Clark Kent in the same condition. Only more- dead.   
  
  
_…he reached out a trembling hand to the windshield, "Clark," he whispered and fell to the floor trembling, breaking out in a sweat from a fear that hadn't yet reached his heart or mind; because he was holding it off, he wouldn't let it touch him… _   
  
  
After years of living with- or more accurately living without- Lionel as a father, he had learned how to suppress and eventually rid himself of pesky emotions and reactions. But in the garage… His chest had hurt, heaving with ragged breaths and he had felt as if something was coming to the surface.   
  
  
_…can I handle it?…_   
  
  
He had found himself standing in front of his closet door changing into sweatpants, running shoes and a tee-shirt. He had no memory of traversing the levels up to his room, but then he didn't care either. It hadn't mattered one iota. He was numb and he wanted to keep it that way. 

He hadn't run in ages, and his actions didn't even register with his brain until he was already five minutes into the trek. Still finding himself mercifully numb, he didn't pursue the reasons for his choice of physical exertion. Usually he decided on a good drive when he needed to distance himself, the indicative cliché of escaping your troubles. Driving would not help now, though.   
  
  
_…nothing with cars, please…_   
  
  
When the problems were this bad… Well, they'd never been this bad. It was like everything was ganging up on him at once. His escaping had gotten ever more symbolic. He was now trying to outrun his worries. Outrun everything. And honestly- he was doing a very poor job.   
  
  
_…not heading anywhere in particular - just run…_   
  
  
He found himself straying from the center of Smallville, steering clear of the town and any well-traveled roads. Solitude was something he was used to, something he preferred. Or had preferred. Until Clark. The kid had saved his life, and Lex had returned what he saw as a slightly less important favor.   
  
  
_…stupid teenagers and their fucking-…_   
  
  
He cut himself off, forgetting the corn field and Clark tied to the post. It reminded him of an incident in his childhood, one he preferred not to think about. 

Absently running his hand over his dampened, bald scalp, he tried to once again clear his mind. Looking around at the scenery, but not really seeing anything. Concentrating on the sound of his rapidly falling footsteps until it was the only sound occupying his attention. Keeping the pain in his hips and knees unceasingly in the front of his mind, knowing that he was going to pay dearly tomorrow for this little "jog" tonight. 

His little ruse almost worked, but something… Something drew him back to Clark. He'd found that lately he wasn't in charge of his thoughts as much as he had been in the past. It didn't matter where he was or what he was participating in at that very moment, if a thought about Kent popped up, Lex was damned if he could control it. Simple little thoughts wherein they weren't doing anything, really. Talking, sitting, relaxing... Driving. 

About what _exactly_ drew him to the other boy? He was as clueless there as to what _exactly_ happened during the crash. But he had his suspicions in both cases. 

Lex had once thought it was partially Clark's innocence, the way he carried himself that made "wise-naivete" a truth instead of an oxymoron. However, since finding out that he had hit Clark with his sports car, he was unsure. He knew he had always seen such intelligence and awareness in those bright eyes, such philosophical clarity, but now he could tell that those eyes held secrets, dark ones.   
  
  
_…and yet, I still want so badly to be lost in them…_   
  
  
He swallowed hard, his throat sore and tight as he let his mind travel for the first time back to the accident.   
  
  
_---Clark's presence before me on the bridge is so horrifying, he can't be there; the thunk of his body against the hood is even worse; it scares me to my core- I'm so scared---_   
  
  
The young Luther could, even now, feel his stomach contracting. This wasn't normal. This wasn't just retrospection. It was reliving and he needed to get home. He needed to turn around and just-   
  
  
_…don't go back, don't stop, please; we're not through yet, not just yet…_   
  
  
He straightened his chin, and pushed his legs faster, ignoring the burning, the fire. He'd be damned if he was going to let mere memories control him.   
  
  
-_--pressed against the steering wheel as the car falls forward; the impact jarring me as it crashes into the water---_   
  
  
His chest had been sore for a week after he'd been thrown so mercilessly onto the wheel.   
  
  
_…and yet, Clark- he's fine…_   
  
  
Lex could feel the first stitch of his run start in his side but he did not slow. He realized that his breathing was too shallow and rapid, and took in a few deeper, more relaxed breaths, knowing that the pain in his ribs would eventually dissipate.   
  
  
_---the water, the water everywhere---_   
  
  
He felt a shock as he realized he was beginning to get- cold.   
  
  
_…fear, that's fear…_   
  
  
He remembered the fear… The fear of being trapped within the sinking capsule of a car, unable to do a thing to stop the unobstructed water from pouring in on him. The fear as he lost that famous Luther composure and began a terrified banging and kicking. Began the struggle to hold his breath for just another second and another.   
  
  
_---oh, God, just hold the breath; damnit please, please---_   
  
  
He remembered the instant of fear and sorrow as he gave up, no longer able to fight it. He remembered the burning heat ripping through his throat and chest as he breathed in the water, as it filled his lungs and then- 

Everything was gone. Nothing, darkness. Pain, then nothing. The next instant it seemed was the second time he saw Clark. There had been nothing in between the moment he had breathed in the water, and the moment Clark had pumped it out of him. It was probably a lifetime to Clark, but had been a mere blink for him, a single beat of a hummingbird's heart.   
  
  
_---open my eyes, I'm sore, so sore and horribly fucking tired. I- I see- someone. Is this my savior?---_   
  
  
Dripping and worried, he had been leaning over Lex, looking as if the world might come to an end.   
  
  
_---beautiful, handsome as the sun sends beams behind him and onto the ground around me; who is this---_   
  
  
He had known right away that he had somehow made it out alive, that this was not heaven because the Luthers knew their place in the world and the eternal order of things. Heaven was not it.   
  
  
_---and it would… Be all his fault---_   
  
  
Lex's heart leaped at the memory of Clark's expression, sorrow-filled and looking like he had failed, the face that showed fear and guilt. It hit Lex abruptly that if he had died that day- died so near Clark's arms but not actually within the warm, tight embrace- Clark would have blamed himself for not getting there soon enough, or not being efficient enough at CPR. 

The look of relief that washed over the younger boy's face when Lex's eyes had met his… It had been so damn potent. 

This memory was one that Lex had not ventured into until now. He hadn't dared for so many reasons. He knew as long as he didn't think about it, he could pretend that Kent had jumped out of the way, or maybe dived into the water below. But now he could hear the thunk, the sick crunch of metal and glass. 

Lex felt himself trembling.   
  
  
_---CRUNCH---_   
  
  
Now that he remembered it, the sound of Clark's body slamming into the mixture of metal and glass was sure to haunt him. Unless he- maybe- He could talk to Clark about it. Just try.   
  
  
_…sad, worried, and guilty eyes looking down at him; blaming themselves already, hiding something…_   
  
  
Lex breathed in deeply, anger swelling up inside of him as his eyes stung, this time with a saline not borne of perspiration. Fuck talking. He needed to stop the emotions. He was a _Luther_, goddamn it. He could do this. Emotions weren't anything-   
  
  
_…the wrecked car in the light of his garage…_   
  
  
-that couldn't be forced-   
  
  
_…the panic as he kicked at the car door, the water surrounding him, finding its admittance in the cracks of the now broken window…_   
  
  
-deep, deep down until-   
  
  
_…he hadn't screamed, though; only cowards scream…_   
  
  
-it could eventually go away.   
  
  
_………………_   
  
  
Silence. Mental silence. Maybe he'd done it. 

Lex took a deep breath. It felt thick and tasted sour and he realized that his stomach was displeased at the way he was treating his body. He kept going, deciding to forget any objection, just to run until either he was as numb and careless as before Nixon showed up, or until he simply no longer could. 

He once again concentrated on the tempo of his feet and the growing physical pain. His joints were sore and throbbing, virgin to this breed of strain, and as soon as he opened his mind to the aches and discomfort, they willingly screamed to their single man congregation. His deaf ear had been turned and it did wonders now that he was paying close attention to his body. Pain really did offer an incredibly winsome venture away from rational thought. It was almost aromatic in its intensity, at least if there was enough of it to go around. 

More confident in his ability to either go farther or earn his detached state, he looked up and seeing his surroundings for the first time. 

He stopped running. He didn't slow to a jog, then walk, then stop. He just _stopped_ and stood there. 

His body, set in motion for so long, felt weak. Moving and still at the same time. His heart was hammering angrily at his chest and he swayed. Lex was dangerously teetering on the spot, but whether from the sudden change in stamina or the realization of where he was… He couldn't begin to guess. 

He was only a few hundred yards from Clark's barn.   
  
  
_…how the hell?…_   
  
  
He took a few questioning steps forward and found his legs to be heavy, rubbery and unstable. Shaking all over, he looked up to the loft, the second floor of the barn. There Clark stood, looking at him, watching him. Lex couldn't see an expression but could see the telescope next to him and wondered if he'd been using it.   
  
  
_…how long has he been watching me…_   
  
  
Lex was oddly comforted by the thought that Kent had been watching him through the telescopic lens. As his eyes traveled back up to meet Clark's, he felt a gush of warmth fill his stomach. His face and neck began to heat up and knew that these were not aftereffects of the run. He always felt this way around the tall, dark-haired kid. 

For the second time that day he heard a name unwittingly spoken by himself. "Clark." 

It wasn't even a whisper. It was a breath. And again, as with the first time he had let that name pass through his lips, he found himself falling to the ground, only this time, he seemed to be floating.   
  
  
_…funny, what his name seems to do to me…_   
  
  
He laughed for a moment, delirious, then slipped into the black, never feeling his body hit the ground.   
  
  
  
  
  
****

To be continued... 


	2. In the Dark of Night [By My Side]

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Two - In the Dark of Night [By My Side]   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Clark contemplates on Lana, Lex and his life.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: I can't thank you enough for the reviews of the first chapter. Feedback is so refreshing and invigorating :o)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: #1 - I forgot to put up the disclaimer yesterday. Oops. #2 - If you want an explanation beforehand for what happens, go down to the very bottom of this fic. After you see 88888, I give an explanation.   
Warning: This is a little AU [Alternate Universe] as far as where Clark lives. He lives in the hayloft. Please forgive my silly self, but it's his room now :) 

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**ABSOLUTION**   
  


**Chapter 2: In the Dark of Night [By My Side]**

Lying back at the foot of his bed, Clark could see out over the fields. The stars seemed so close and too far away at the same time. There they were, permanently on display where he could see them in their twinkling white bodies, so bold in the wide, open expanses. Always there, and yet he could never come close enough for his presence to be felt. 

_...light years away..._

So far that he could spend his whole life traveling towards one of them and die before he ever reached his destination. 

"Cheerful thought," he muttered sarcastically to himself, but continued to let his eyes wander over the familiar landscape of the winking firmament. It had always been an immense comfort to him, the clear lights in the sky- 

_…like guardian angels watching over me…_

-but now that comfort took on another, deeper meaning. Was one of the "stars" his home? Could he actually be from a planet off in one of the distant but visible galaxies? One you could _just barely_ see in the abyss and only through the eyes of the Earth's strongest, most powerful telescope? One that he'd probably never be able to actually see with any real detail because the telescope was only so strong and the target would come out looking all grainy? 

More often then not he was stunned and taken aback by just what science could do, but at times like this, with everything out there and no real way to reach it… Satellites were like placing a child's toy boat on the ocean, only even the ocean eventually met it's end. Space was different. Space was infinite and incomprehensible as such. He saw all scientists as kids holding up a magnifying glass to the starry night, hoping for a glimpse at the end, their own personal chimera, or simply at something out there proving that there was life other than us. That we are not solitary and unaccompanied in the vast forever that is space. How ironically hard they try, constantly on the lookout on the exterior, but here lies the proof, in Smallville of all places. Inside their very own planet. 

_..._their_ planet is right; it is _their_ Earth, after all..._

His stomach twisted, some in sorrow- 

_...I once thought of it as _my_ home, too..._

-some in homesickness, fear and anguish as his mind tried to ponder just how far away he was from his real descendents. He doubted anyone could. It made him feel so singular when he thought about how close he was to human, but how he would never fit, how he would never be like everyone here. 

_…in a way I'm sort of an outcast..._

Clark was different- like him. 

_…him; yes, like him…_

Not that Lana Lang didn't still hold his interest captive at times. She did and to an almost surreal extent. Clark still found his mind slipping off and away during class, sometimes during his moments of solitude, but not to it's usual locale. The new province was void of Lana altogether, a place where he seemed comfortable but… not really that self-assured. More like somewhere he'd never ventured. But it still felt like home. 

_…he- _he_ feels like home to me…_

Sighing, he stood up, crossing the short distance from his bed to the open area of his second floor barn-door view. A mile away he could see Lana's house, and he momentarily toyed with the idea of looking in on her, but it just didn't hold the mystery and romance it used to. She was still the very feminine and gorgeous beauty that had caught his attentions so long ago. The innocent seraph of Elysium that had been accidentally tossed to the earth. 

What it must be like compared to heaven. A fiery hell for such a visage of angelic form. 

_…angelic form, yeah…_

He smiled, feeling a little guilty as he pictured Lana in the locker room. Just as he had seen her more than a week ago. It was every boy's fantasy: x-ray vision at the exact right time. Okay, well, maybe not at the _exact_ right time. He could have done without the whole falling off the rope and crashing to the floor deal in the middle of PE. Not to mention Pete's muscle, skeleton, and nervous system. Yuck. He could have _really_ done without that, but it had almost been worth it. 

Too bad she hadn't turned around. 

Clark grinned, much preferring this train of thought. Not as somber, sad or puzzling as some of his others. Another had, as of late, been asserting his claim to Clark's thoughts and soul, and it was a little… bizarre. Lana, however, still held a very important part of his heart and she wasn't exactly slacking much in the area of his hormones, either. 

All teen horniness aside though, she was a good and honest friend, someone he could trust. He felt he really knew her. Maybe it was because she too had been dealt with a tipped and biased hand from the stars, a hand more than ready to inflict pain and loss. Clark could relate, could sense her pain, taste her tears, and savor her grief because they were his own. He felt closer to her than most. 

_…most, but not all…_

His breath quickened noticeably at the image presented lightning quick to his mind; an image of a darkly clad, pale human being, outward appearances trying desperately to convey the exact opposite of Lana. Clark knew differently. He _knew_ about outward appearances and how reliable they were. After all, her appeared perfectly human, not a single piece of evidence- 

_…the meteor, pieces of the meteor…_

-to say otherwise. He could hear the good inside of the man, could see the golden interior that lay hidden in dust and dirt within the walking callus that was thought to have very few, if any emotions. He knew that a trustworthy and humane side existed inside of someone who appeared so deeply apathetic. But did Lex? 

Clark sighed and walked back to his bed, lying down in the dim light of the hay loft. The starlight from the loading door didn't reach the head of his bed, blocked by the wall, so while most of the room was bathed in silvery-white light, his face and upper torso was left in the dark. The symbolism did not escape him. 

Looking up at the ceiling, a slight frown clouding his face, he could see that the young Luther didn't have the easiest life. Without a doubt people despised the surname, and anyone unfortunate enough to bare that lifelong burden. "Like father, Like Son", seemed to be the Luther motto. Their coat of arms could have been a dollar sign and blade. To Clark, carrying the Luther brand name was akin to being loaded down with a bolder the size of his father's truck. 

Clark winced. At least it might seem that way for a _normal_ person. An actual _human being_. He didn't know of anything- to him, at least- that could compare physically to the cumbersome reputation that the Lex had to bare. It was as if a monogram was permanently emblazoned across his forehead. People everywhere knew just who and what he was. 

_…at least they think they know him…_

Lex was brave, though, even if most people didn't perceive that about him. He survives through the glares of hate coated awe and curious suspicion. Articles in every newspaper gleefully covering his mistakes- 

_…but also his successes…_

-and his problems. 

Even Clark's own father was blunt about his animosity towards the man, still so young. But the more Clark kept his attentions around his controversial friend, the more he learned that being a Luther meant that you had to take it. People automatically assumed you had no feelings, had nothing to touch emotionally. That could be the only reason that people were as curt and rude to Lex. Either that or they just didn't care and he wanted to think better of the people he'd grown up with since he was three, including his own father. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He figured he could understand Lex's loneliness. At least the actual 'being lonely' part. Lex had no father, very few friends- 

_…who?…_

- and his famous name brought him fascination from people all around, but the wrong sort, always feathered with an ice cold disposition. Clark could never understand that, but at least he could empathize. People were pretty nice to him when they met and his family and friends meant everything to him. They were his strength. Sure, he was different, and Pete and Chloe didn't actually know that, but- if they did… If they did… 

_…if they did, what? What would they do?…_

Clark guessed that Lex could take only so much before he either snapped or shut himself off completely, and Clark really hoped neither ever happened. Lex was only human, after all. 

_...what am _I_?..._

He breathed in a deep breath and worked to rid himself of that sole and unshared, ever-present question. It wasn't easy. The damn thing popped up even when making PB&J sandwiches, or just opening his locker. 

He tried placing his concentration more on the bald young man, than on himself. 

_…as if concentrating on Lex is ever hard…_

His stomach began to unknot itself instantly and he began to relax. He could literally feel Lex's presence in the room. 

**Thump… thump… thump… thump…**

Startled, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He tried to scout out the noise, but as soon as it came it was gone. He continued to look but saw nothing in his immediate view that could have been making the soft, almost rhythmic 'thump'. It sounded a little familiar, but he couldn't place it. 

After a moment he plopped back onto his pillow, a little perplexed. He retraced his thoughts, and came back to Lex. Relaxing, he pulled up a picture of the older boy in his head, just to focus he told himself, but there was too much pleasure in seeing the pale, slightly smug face for him to really believe that. 

_…what would it be like to just give in and let go?…_

This thought startled him, but he went with it. It wasn't a total surprise. He _had_ sheepishly admitted to himself a week ago that he had found himself pulling towards Luther. 

_…how could you not?…_

That Lex had come to his house the morning after the bank robbery… Well, it had effected Clark, even if it shouldn't have. After all, the twenty-something year old had the perfect excuse: Clark had been on the witness list, and knew Lex personally. At least, more personally then the rest of the witnesses. If something had been off or odd about Lex, then he would be the single person in the group that might have noticed. Coming to see him to check up with his story seemed entirely logical. 

But from the moment he saw Lex standing in front of the screen door, making the typical Luther surprise entrance, he knew there was something else. The older boy had stayed close to Clark and had been very strange with eye contact and body language. Not to mention very quick to assert his alibi, just in case someone in the family- 

_…me; he wanted to make sure that I trusted and believed him…_

-doubted the integrity of the known manipulation sovereign and expert exploiter. Clark had only known one side of Lex- sincere, a bit quirky and definitely complacent. Never less than completely independent and self-confident. 

_…in an almost endearing way…_

To know that the Luther had come out of his way to make sure a friend knew without a doubt that he was innocent was touching to say the very least. Clark had picked up his subtle worry, and was even quicker to assert his own faith in Lex's words, even eliciting a small smile near the end of their conversation. 

_...the smile; aw, god..._

A heat that had begun to grow in his stomach from the moment he heard the familiar voice had exploded warmly through his stomach and face. That was when he knew something was up. That heat was the kind he got around Lana, only… Well, more so. There was something about Lex that just- did something for him. When he caught himself pausing in the middle of a truly hectic day to remember that smile, he decided to just give up the whole 'pretending it didn't exist' act. It was too wonderful a feeling to neglect. 

That same heat was filling his stomach pleasantly. He pictured Lex in the barn with him. 

_…what would it feel like to be able to look deep into those eyes when they're not concealed behind that veil; what was he afraid of?? maybe he feared someone might discover a vulnerable child beneath the façade; was it even possible that…_

**Thump… thump… thump…**

The sound actually scared him this time, louder and more intense. It had cut his thoughts off again, and he deeply resented this. It was sort of a padding sound, like… running? 

**Thump… thump… thump…**

He wasn't sure, but- maybe if he… 

Nope. As soon as he tried to focus on the sound, tried to find the damn thing, it disappeared. Frustrated and realizing that this could be another haywire sense coming to, Clark rolled his eyes and brought his hands to his face, covering it. This gave a whole new meaning to "coming of age". 

_...wait a minute..._

He was just now making a connection that could mean something. This wasn't the first time he'd had this problem. He had heard his parents two days ago when they weren't around. He'd been hungry and had been thinking of going down to eat breakfast with them. He really wanted to see them, as he had fallen asleep thinking about his real parents and desperately needed the comfort of people he _knew_ loved him. 

_...what better way to get rid of a child than to send it on an interstellar journey to another planet..._

He pushed the ridiculous thought out of his mind and returned to the other day. 

As their voices had drifted into the barn he had eagerly headed down, thinking they were there. Soon as his foot hit the first step he had lost the sound. He had called out, tried to look for them, tried to follow their voices, but they weren't there. Eventually heading to the house and finding them busy in the kitchen, he tentatively got a plate, sat down and ate, not bothering to mention it. It was too soon after the whole incident with Tina Greer and the whole- well, morphing deal, to slam his parents back into the throes of his extra-sensory problems. 

He turned to lie on his stomach and groaned into the pillow. Just how many more of these "powers" was he going to achieve? How much farther from normal was he going to become? Would he eventually become so different from others that he'd be walking around them unaware of them as people, as individuals, but instead as a group? A mass that he could only ever pretend to be a part of? 

_…that's what I am right now…_

Not entirely, though. And if he wanted to still be able to see everyone in this same light, then people could never know. Never. He didn't want to become separate from them, not any more than he already was. He didn't want to be seen as a freak. 

_...sort of like Lex?..._

If his parents knew about his new problem… There was nothing to indicate that they would grow tired of all that he could become, but he didn't want to push it. His parents had lives as much as he did, and if this was going to keep happening, they couldn't deal with both. He couldn't become that selfish. To ask them to give up their normal, _human_ lives for him a little bit more each time he got more eccentric? No, he wouldn't do that. Besides, he wasn't six. He couldn't keep running to them every time he became confused. 

Maybe he could get a handle on it by himself. He would just do what he did with his eyes when he wanted one of the x-ray tricks only- with his ears. 

He shut his eyes, concentrating on his hearing, trying to block out everything else, searching for that sound… He got nothing. He tried harder and this time found the beginnings of what could become a major headache. 

_…great, so I can self-induce headaches, too…_

He breathed in deeply, adding patience to his list of abilities to work on. 

_…okay, now think… _

What had he been doing before? 

_…nothing, just thinking of Lex…_

So if he didn't think of anything, didn't concentrate, the sound would just come to him? That didn't feel right at all. With every one of his advanced capabilities he had to work hard. He had to really try. Then it got easier. When he'd first gotten the x-ray visions, he'd had to focus with more studious attention then he had ever given anything. 

_…Lex…_

What had he been doing before? 

_…then the sound of running…_

There was something he was missing here. 

_…his parents; thinking his parents, then their voices…_

Could he be concentrating on the wrong sense? 

_…running…_

Was Lex running? So late at night? Surely running was an exercise best practiced in the morning, or at least late afternoon. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the older man, but a moment later an image snuck into his head. Lex running. Close by. 

_...I'm being so stupid; just a hunch, but-..._

He sprang up in his bed, leaping off and over to the open door of his hay loft. There was no way, no way that Lex Luther wou… 

Clark's mouth dropped opened a little. "Lex?" His voice was a whisper, shaky and unbelieving. There Luther was, running. He was about a mile and a half away, but his smooth head and pale skin made him recognizable from almost any distance. 

_…not to mention a little, um, _shiny_ in the moonlight…_

Clark dipped down to his telescope and tried to follow the bobbing runner, but he stood up before even getting a glance. If Clark's heart had begun to speed up before, it was breaking all laws of acceleration now. He suddenly understood. He _had_ been concentrating on the wrong thing. He had wanted to be with his parents, and he heard them. 

_…I want to be with Lex, and I hear him…_

He closed his eyes and breathed in. Bringing Lex into his mind, he concentrated not on his looks or his personality traits, but on how much he wanted to other boy beside him. How much he wanted to hear his voice. To see his eyes. 

'-**thump**-' 

Clark's heart leaped at the faint sound, and he felt the heat bubble in his chest rupture, bursting through his torso, head and limbs. His emotions spread through him like dye through warm swirling water. 

**THUMP… THUMP… THUMP…**

He jumped at the sound, but did not open his eyes. Instead he tried to turn down the volume by retracting some of his intensity and, after a few seconds, succeeded. 

_…what's that- that other sound…_

There was the steady backdrop of the running, and another rhythm just below that, barely within his range of hearing. It was faster, and almost doubling, like and echo. What was it? 

_…oh, God…_

Clark's eyes snapped open and found the Luther still closing the distance. The two sounds were there. His feet pounding mercilessly on the dirt road that Lex had just recently turned off onto and... 

_…his heart…_

Clark could hear Lex's heart. He didn't actually know, but he figured that this was a bad sign. If his heart was pounding so hard that Clark could actually _hear_ it… He moved back to the telescope, adjusted it, and looked to his friend. 

_…oh, shit…_

The look on his face was of pain and deep confusion and… Open fear. Something tore a path straight through Clark. Lex was afraid of something. 

_…but what in the world could Lex-…_

Everyone was afraid of something. Clark remembered his previous thoughts. Vulnerability, maybe? Being open to people, instead of closed off and protected from hurt. He couldn't guess. 

_…fear…_

He watched his friend and saw Lex's chin tremble. It was not much, a light movement really, but to Clark it felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. 

Lex grimaced, and pushed himself harder. 

_…don't do that; you already look like death…_

His heart rate started to elevate, and Clark began to get seriously worried. He had been too shocked to wonder exactly what Lex was doing out her,e but the thought now crossed his mind. How far had he been running and for how long? By the looks of him, he hadn't stopped in a long time. 

_…very long; maybe his whole life…_

More importantly, why was here? 

_…did he come to me? _for_ me? why?…_

Clark heard Lex's breath hitch and saw him begin to tremble. 

_…what the hell is wrong with him? why doesn't he just stop??…_

Lex's face suddenly became blank, no facial tell-tales at all, as if he had just switched himself off. He then brought his eyes more into focus and looked around and- 

Clark lost him in the telescope. He moved forward figuring Lex had sped up, but he wasn't there. 

_...uh,oh..._

His fingers began to shake as they pushed the telescope back to where it could find Lex. Sure enough, he had stopped, but he looked… 

_…confused; like me now…_

He looked like he didn't know where he was. 

_…or maybe he knows where, but not _why_ and _how_…_

Clark slowly turned away from the telescope in time to see Lex move a little forward, awkward steps that would make a four month old look coordinated. Clark moved to the edge of the loading door, watching as his friend's eyes slowly moved up to meet his own. Clark was sure that his heart had just stopped. 

_…even from so far away, in little light, those eyes have such presence, such power…_

Those eyes looked away briefly, then back and Clark's breath was again knocked a little ragged by the contact. He tried to swallow around his tightening throat. He watched his friend, mesmerized but with a growing unease as he realized he could still here the other man's heartbeat. It had already become a normal thing, second nature, fitting time, place, and emotion. It had just seemed right to be able to hear it. 

But now it was not slowing down. Clark increased the intensity- and therefore the volume- of his want to hear the noise, briefly surprised and relieved at how easy it now was. But his relief was short-lived. Even though he had stopped running, Lex's heart was not giving up its own marathon. 

_…that can't be goo-…_

"Clark." 

His name breathed from within the troubled Luther, so clearly on edge, hit him hard, square in the soul. It felt as if Lex was right beside him, lips so near his ear that he could feel the breath like a light breeze. The airy murmur sent shivers down his spine. 

Then Lex began to fall. And Clark had never moved faster. Not when outrunning his school bus- 

_…a game really; just something to annoy Chloe…_

-not when… He couldn't remember running faster. Except when he had to find and save Lana from certain death 

_...is that what I'm afraid of? that he'll-…_

"No," he said simply after jumping to the ground. A hundred odd yards of the world whizzed by him in a whirl of color, it's own eccentric beauty now common to Clark. He reached his friend mid-way through his fall, just in time to hear him laugh a weak and breathless laugh, void of all mirth, but not lacking in emotion. 

His hands shot out to catch the tumbling Luther still dropping to the ground. He grabbed him by the arms and held him up, thankful as always for his extra strength. 

"Lex?" he called softly, not really expecting an answer. The man was clearly out of it. 

_…he's soaked and burning up; just how long has he been running?…_

He looked at the face, in turmoil even as he was unconscious. What could have possibly upset Lex this much? 

_…why'd he come to me?…_

Clark put one arm around Lex's waist, and the other under his knees and lifted the man. As Luther's chest pressed lightly against his own, he noted with immeasurable relief that his heart had slowed some. Too much would have been something to worry about, as would not at all, but Clark was calmed by the fact that Lex seemed not to have killed himself. 

_…a good thing, a _very_ good thing…_

He made sure he had a firm grip before speeding back to his bedroom and gently placing the drenched body of his friend on the bed.   
  
  
  
  
  
****

To be continued...   
  
  
  


88888   
The newest power that Clark is discovering in my little fic, is the same power that eventually lets him hear people calling "Help, Superman, help!" and Lois calling his name [even when she breaks a nail, damn woman!] later on in his life. This is him just now discovering it. 


	3. I Am Here for You [Nayib's Song]

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Three - I Am Here for You [Nayib's Song]   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Slight Intermission: Jonathan Kent's POV leads briefly until the next chapter.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: Thank you guys **so much** for the great feedback! Feel free to email me [or tell me to email you in the reviews] if you want to talk more.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Thanks to my beta reader, author Lyle Brown, who has been of tremendous help with many of my fictions. 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   
  


**Chapter 3: I Am Here for You [Nayib's Song]**

Jonathan Kent couldn't sleep. There was no real reason, just that he was too… awake. 

He sighed, readjusting the pillow behind his head for the thirtieth time, and checked the clock. It was ten fifteen. As opposed to the ten thirteen that it was an hour ago. At least it _felt_ like an hour ago. On average, he and Martha got ready for bed at around nine forty and were sleeping by ten. The farm chores started so early that he didn't have the time for late night shows or reading in bed. Yet here he was, fidgeting for no damn reason. 

They say that it takes the average person approximately seven minutes to get to sleep as long as they have nothing major on their minds. Well, absolutely nothing but peaceful slumber was on _his_ mind, and, still, he couldn't get to sleep. The one time that Jonathan Kent went to bed happy and ready to fall asleep, Mr. Sandman decided to play hard to get. 

He adjusted the pillow again and rolled into another position, this time a little closer to the form of his sleeping wife. 

"Go make yourself a warm glass of milk," came the sweet but tired voice, muffled by the pillow and slurred by exhaustion. 

"Hmmm." 

_…not as asleep as I'd thought; maybe I can wake her up a little more…_

He moved in closer, slipping his arm around her waist, and whispered in what he hoped was a seductive tone. "You know, hon, ever since Clark's decided to practically live in that hayloft-" 

"He _does_ live in that hayloft." 

"-the house has been left all to ourselves." 

A pause. "Jonathan." 

_…amused; good sign…_

"It's not like he can hear us." 

"Jonathan." There was warning in the tone now. 

_...maybe I can push it..._

"I mean-" 

"Kent." No pause this time. 

_…and definitely _not_ amused; oops…_

"Tired?" 

"Good guess." 

"I'll get that glass of milk now, huh?" 

"Good idea." 

"Yeah." He scooted out from under the covers and walked quietly to their bedroom door, shutting it even more quietly behind him. 

_…damned confusing woman wants romance and spontaneity but can't-…_

His thoughts were cut off by the sight of his son, oblivious to Jon's presence, grabbing for a quilt out of the linen closet. 

_…a quilt? it has to be seventy-five degrees out; what would he nee-…_

His thoughts were again cut off as Clark raced silently at his superspeed out of the hallway and into the kitchen. 

_…what the-…_

Jonathan followed hastily behind, ready to query his son when he saw the boy, an anxious expression adorning his face. He grabbed a large glass of water and sped his way out of the kitchen. 

On a normal, _cold_ night, Jonathan might have thought nothing of this really, even though his son had never been one to get chilly easily. But on a night that was as warm as it was now? And the fretful expression? 

Even though Jonathan could see nothing at all wrong with the benign articles his son had picked up, it was the more or less dubious use of his abilities that made Jonathan's interest perk. That and he'd seen his son's face. 

_…I can't seem to be able to get to sleep, so why not investigate?…_

He abandoned the milk mission, and instead headed out to his son's new room. After Clark had been involved- 

_…hit…_

in the car accident with Lex Luther, Jonathan and Martha had explained the truth about just how they had, well obtained him and where they had found him. Craters, weird looking spaceship type thing, the meteor shower… They had told him everything they knew, and Clark being Clark he proceeded to blame himself for the meteor shower, and the deaths and sundry mutations caused by it. He started spending more and more time in the barn, just staring at the stars and thinking. If it were for any other reason but his son's affirmed discrepancies between himself and the entire planet's population, Jon would have insisted that his son come back inside and start sleeping in his room at nights. But now, under the present circumstances he couldn't bring himself to do that. This was more than typical, narrow-minded teen angst. This was something that no one- 

_…on _this_ planet at least…_

-could understand, and if his solitary time in the barn ever left any emotional impressions, they were never visible to Jon, who had become an expert in judging his son's moods even through the more laborious teen years. Clark had always been an amazing young man, mature and wise beyond his years, but now he had to grow up faster than even before. Now he had to deal with having super-mortal strengths and anthropologically impossible abilities, powers that some humans would kill to have. He had to confront _and_ subsist with those and be coupled with harsh and, no doubt, amaranthine truths: he had no idea from where he originated; had no way to fathom just why he was here or why he could do the things that only he could; probably worst of all, though, he had no clue as to how to descry the path towards his single and ostensibly unattainable goal: to know. 

Jonathan wanted nothing more than to alleviate the pain, and bestow upon his son the things he knew he could offer: love, support, and trust. To make Clark feel beloved and cared for. To make sure it was obvious that he had somewhere to turn in times of worry and need. Most of all, to make sure he knew he had a place in their family and their hearts, to be certain he understood how deeply he was rooted to them, that he was part of them, even if he sometimes didn't feel like it. Nothing could take away a parent's love for their child, and Jon knew within his soul that if only Clark could grasp onto this, then the boy would at least have a stronger foundation to build his life on. He was, after all, everything in the world that truly mattered to Martha and Jonathan Kent. All that, in fact, had for the last seventeen years. 

Of course, no matter how much he craved this inner peace for his son, he knew there were things he'd never be apt to hand over, along with things he would never be able to comprehend about Clark, places within the boy that he'd never be able to touch, and as a father, this cut him deeply, leaving too much wound to tend to with any accuracy. Now that Clark knew he was not human in origin, the boy understood his father's inaccessibility as well, as it could not be denied. The old adolescent truism about parental misunderstandings and space in between the generations were more accurate in his case, disregarding the age factor. His parents really couldn't understand all that he was going through, no one could. 

No matter what though, he wouldn't for one instant regret telling his son the truth. At least Clark had a single immediate answer as to why he was so strong and so very different, even if it did offer up about a million others. He deserved to know the truth, deserved the opportunity to search for answers in what Jon and Martha hoped was the right direction. 

And they knew he would. They just hoped that he would always keep them both in his life and in the know, let them be there for him, even if all they could give him was support in lieu of answers. 

Just as Jonathan was opening the barn door, he heard a moan, a sound holding an infinite amount of agony in its resonance, and looked up at the hayloft in surprise. 

Despite the fact that he was lacking the superspeed that Clark was capable of, he still felt accomplished in his haste to reach his son. Worried that Clark might be hurt or sick or anything other than in mint condition, he had bounded up the steps in record time only to find a Luther kid in peril, instead of a Kent one. His own was sitting next to the pale, quilt-clad form, tucking the ends under, and thereby effectively cocooning the body. Luther, currently defunct to the world, was looking despondent even in his sleeping state, his ashen face particularly doughy, a mask of pain and agony that Jonathan doubted had ever been revealed to another soul. The Luther's saw themselves as mortal Gods and Jon wondered if looking long enough at the youngest of these self-proclaimed deities would turn him to a pillar of salt. The punishment would seem to fit his disobedience of a basic Luther law: never choose to view one while cracked or damaged, defected from their consecrated righteousness. 

For a moment, even though he knew better, Jonathan stepped away from himself at the site of another human being so forlorn looking, so tragically and obviously abandoned by his… "father" for lack of a better description of Lionel Luther. Feeling a pang of sympathy for the man, so young in his early twenties, was an event that he never would have counted on happening in this lifetime or any other, yet there it was. The boy looked so fragile and feverish, gone to this realm of the conscious, and this sickly Luther sent shock waves through the senior Kent. In his whole life he would have never guessed that a Luther could become like this. So human. 

_…he looks- _broken_…_

Part of him wished that he could have seen Lionel like this, human and suffering, but that part was mercifully small. The father in him, however, was not, and he questioned just how _Mr._ Luther would react to Junior's predicament. 

He looked to his own son's face and was not at all surprised to see it loudly and articulately declaring care towards his afflicted companion. There was such worry and confusion in that seventeen-year old face that he looked so much younger and yet so much more insightful than usual. 

Still, Jonathan could not ignore the fact that, quite out of nowhere, there was a distressed person- 

_…Lex Luther, at that…_

-in his son's hayloft bedroom. Why was he here instead of at Luther Manor, or better yet, a hospital? Why'd he come to Clark? And when? Or had Clark picked him up and brought him here? But- 

He cut his thoughts off and decided to announce his presence. "I'm sure you can't even begin to guess all of the questions running through my head here, Clark." 

The boy had jumped at the sound of a voice and turned back to see his father at the top of the stairs. He stood up to face him, standing in front of- 

_…is that a protective stance? is he protecting-…_

Lex and the bed, sort of shielding the boy from his father's view. "I swear, I don't know why he's here, Dad." He began calmly enough, his unruffled exterior almost masking the slight tremble in his tone. "But he needed my help." 

_…that's my Clark; always the ever thoughtful mercenary…_

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and gave his son a light smile, hoping to pacify and show him that there was no anger here. "You don't know what he's doing in the barn?" he joked. He and Martha refused to call it a bedroom aloud in hopes that the boy would eventually move back into the house. 

His son gave him the customary, quirky half smile: saying sarcastically, without voice, "hilarious, dad." It also eased his father's own nerves. "No, I meant here at the farm." 

Jonathan took a few steps towards the bed and Clark reluctantly moved back. He cocked his head curiously at Clark's protective reaction. 

_…what does he think I'm gonna do?…_

"I wouldn't kick a dog when it's down, you know?" 

Clark nodded a bit sheepishly. "Sorry, Dad." 

"You said you don't know why he's at the farm?" 

"Right." 

"How'd he get up here." 

"He was running-" 

_…he was what?…_

"-and he, uh, well fainted. I picked him up and-" He gestured to the bed and Lex, confirming the rest of the story. 

"Running? You mean, like exercising?" 

Clark nodded. "I think so. He's wearing the right kind of clothes and he's got running shoes on." 

Jonathan stood back, looking at the young man who was shivering slightly. "Body temperature's dropping. Good thing you got the quilt. Um, I'm not sure, but I think you have to keep his feet elevated." He watched as his son sped out of the barn, leaving him momentarily alone with Lex, then coming back just as quickly with two more pillows. He gently took off the running shoes and placed the pillows beneath Luther's feet. 

_…they're gonna be screaming in agony tomorrow…_

"I doubt this is a regular route for him." 

"I've never seen him running out here." Clark looked up at him, his brow creasing as his frown deepened. "Do you think he-" 

"There's no way he could've have come from his mansion. That's a long run, Clark. Maybe not for you, but-" He cut himself off, sighing as he realized that he didn't need to look again at the face, the condition to know that Luther had indeed trekked from the mansion. "Depending on how fast he was running it could be something like a three hour run." He looked to his son. 

_…why would he come here…_

Clark interrupted Jon's thoughts, shrewdly guessing their direction. "I don't know why, Dad. He seemed just as surprised as us at the fact that he was here." 

"He was conscious? He talked to you?" 

Clark shoved his hands in his pockets. "Uh, no. I saw his expression. You know, the telescope." 

"Stargazing?" 

Clark looked away. "Yeah." 

_…okay, missing something here…_

Jonathan nodded despite his concern, not wanting to pry at this very moment. Maybe it wasn't a complete lie. Maybe his son looked away not baring to meet his father's eyes out of guilt. Guilt for thinking of another life, other possibilities, other… family. Where he could be if he had never been sent to Earth. If that's what happened, and it seemed pretty clear that it was. 

_…does he want that? another life? another _family_?…_

His heart pounded with irrefutable certainty at this thought, though his mind knew that this was all just a fabrication of fear, a foster parent's tempestuous worry that his inadequacies outweighed his love and nurture. Still, his gut tightened at the thought of his son wishing he was somewhere other than here, other than the only life he'd ever known. Clark had to realize how much he and Martha loved him, he _had_ to know. 

_…what if our love is fine and dandy, but the _understanding_ is what he wants, what he needs right now more than anything…_

Suddenly Jonathan Kent felt tired and ready for bed, a temporary escape from brand new and hard hitting questions. He dreaded the answers, knowing the truth might penetrate what little armor- more than forty years had melted it away into nothing- there was around his heart, expecting the piercing knowledge to finish him off. 

_…I'm too tired and too damn dramatic to deal with this now…_

"We should probably get him home, Clark. Do you-" he paused, running his hand over his face. He didn't really want to hear the response, not wanting even more proof that his son and Lex maintained a camaraderie of sorts, "-know his phone number?" 

Clark looked at the sleeping form in his bed as another moan pulled through the young Luther. "Yes." 

_…whatever happened to the good old days? when his best buddies in the world were Chloe and Pete, and nothing could fool Clark's Mafioso-radar?…_

Jonathan nodded numbly. The Luthers were not people he had ever expected Clark to socialize with, and the fact that Clark knew Lex's number- his _personal_ one, no doubt- was… Well, not a good sign. 

"I can take him there, Dad. I know a shortcut-" 

_…of course he does; how wonderful…_

"-that would get him there faster. With someone else it might take too long giving them directions and explaining how to get here. Anyone living there with him-" 

"You mean his servants." 

Clark's eyes darkened over a little and Jonathan immediately regretted his words. There was already the distance that had been placed between the two of them thanks to the truth about Clark's origin- 

_…or lack of knowledge about such…_

-and now there was the problem of who Clark had chosen for company. They argued about it enough during mundane times, no need to do it now, when Lex seemed to be… in trouble and out of his element. 

"I'm sorry, I know you're just trying to help him. Fine, it probably would go faster if you took him, but drive him over, okay? Taking him to Luther Manor any other way… Well, you know." 

Clark nodded. 

"Give me the number and I'll call his house and tell them what happened." 

"Thanks." 

Jonathan nodded, thinking that the Sandman would continue to elude him. Now he had too much to think about, as opposed to not enough. He figured the Sandman worked somewhere in between. 

_…bastard…_   
  
  
  
  
  
****

To be continued... 


	4. Breathing

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Four - Breathing   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Clark drives Lex to his house, thinking.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: I love it,** all** of it! You guys are so great and encouraging! Thanks for sticking with the story :)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Once again to my beta reader, Lyle Brown, who has to put up with a lot from me and from my writing. Soon, I'll just let you dance, but for now, I OWN YOU!! :) 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 4: Breathing**

Clark drove, trying to concentrate on the road ahead of him. Even though it was straight and void of all distractions, he was still having a difficult time of it. Lex was buckled into the seat next to him and his moaning appeared to be getting worse, despite the stability of his condition. Clark could've sworn he heard syllables within the dirges, words that hadn't quite made it past the lips which kept them prisoner. 

He knew that Lex's physical state was no more than a little fatigue and dehydration, but he was still pained to see his friend as hurt as he was. He really had no clue what all Lex had done to himself, or just what kind of detrimental effects that too much running was bound to have the next day, but he hoped it wasn't going to be too severe. The man's feet had already swollen badly, and they, along with other body parts, were no doubt going to be sore as hell tomorrow. He'd be able to recuperate better once in his bed- 

_…not that it'd be more suitable than mine; more _appropriate_ maybe…_

-or possibly Clark's arms. 

He allowed a humble smile, one of longing and wishful thinking, to form upon his lips. At the thought of Lex in the safest place Clark could imagine- 

_…nothing could ever hurt him here…_

-he himself became calmer, more sedate. In places. In other places he felt a captivating thrill briefly coursed through, relenting once Clark realized that Lex was too strong, too damn stubborn to allow himself to be held. To be caught unaware and defenseless, assailable to all, whether to those with praetorian interests or benign ones. 

_…or more- _carnal _ones…_

Lex had quieted during the brief interval in which Clark had carried him to Jonathan's truck, as if he were aware of the protection and refuge that the embrace freely offered. Clark had been tempted to walk at a slower, more normal pace, tempted to relish the contact as the body pressed to his, calming and relaxing against his chest. He didn't though, feeling strangely guilty about taking this pleasure. It didn't feel wrong, just lonely and a bit paltry, like he knew there was more that could be had. He just didn't know how to reach that spot, the spot where Lex and he could be_…_more. Something beyond what they were now, only not too different. 

_…argh, so frustrating; I hate this…_

Of course his guilt wasn't the only reason he was quick to place Lex in the truck. He was a little afraid of how it might look to his father. If he saw his son rushing to grab pillows and water, but took his time, ambling towards the truck with another boy, a _Luther_ boy- 

_…man…_

-encircled within his arms. His father would have been more than a little irked and highly confused. 

_…he still really surprised me tonight…_

The instant he had heard Jonathan's voice, Clark had been afraid of the hotheaded reaction he would receive for having the despised Luther son in the barn, but his father had been amazingly rational, understanding even. 

_…if not as compassionate as possible…_

Well, it was Lex after all, and his father had thankfully kept things very... short. Very compact. It had been good timing on his father's part as well, at least for Clark. Another minute later and he would have been in a more intimate position, a hand on a forehead or cheek, face close to Lex's own, trying to wake the boy with soft words and caresses. 

_…I was so worried…_

He had never seen Lex break a sweat, or even lose his cool. If there were one word to describe what he saw in Lex, it would be composure, which was another reason why that whole bank robbery thing had rubbed him the wrong way. If Lex were going to steal, not that Clark ever thought he would, he'd do it with aplomb and an intrepid stride. Not fear, panic, and an unplanned protocol. 

Another moan reverberated through the truck's small cabin and Clark was grateful that it was a soft and diluted one. He wondered if the moans were caused by physical ailments or emotional ones, though it might have been both. Deducing from the anguished expressions he had seen whipping across Lex's face as he ran, Clark presumed that the majority of the sounds were more likely to be spawned from emotional lamenting. Running the way that Lex had… It looked like he never wanted to end this run, like he was trying to flee his life- 

_…dad would say 'he's a Luther', that trying to run away from what he is was trying to outdistance the impossible, trying to leave your shadow in the dust…_

-and escape to a better one, one where so many people didn't hate him, didn't know him, didn't think he deserved to do penance for his every breath. 

Then again, perhaps running _was_ his act of penance and the eventual redemption was what Lex had been working towards. Maybe he was punishing himself, smiting with obvious censure for something he deemed as criminal, as corrupt, and he would continue this persecution, wouldn't stop until he had his exoneration. 

Looking briefly from the road to the man in the passenger seat, Clark tried to check on Lex's heart with his newfound hearing, but he couldn't concentrate. 

_…maybe it's because he's _here_…_

Clark took his right hand off of the steering wheel and placed it in the center of Lex's chest. Ignoring the quickened flutter of his own heart, he moved his hand left until he felt the strongest pulse. The fact that he could still feel Lex's heart with his hand was none to good, but the heart _was _beating at a more normal pace. He had to give it time. Lex had only stopped running about ten minutes ago. 

His looked from the road to Lex's lap, searching for and finding the other man's hand. As his gaze migrated back to the road, he wondered for a moment if he should do what his desire was screaming at him to do. He figured that maybe a touch from him, something personal and caring, could calm the whimpers from Lex. But, then again, he would be, at the same time, using Lex's need as an excuse to live out a tiny little fantasy of his, a slight curiosity which had kept his farm boy mind occupied while in school. 

He steeled his courage and moved his hand from the satisfying _thump-thump_ of Lex's heartbeat, to reach for the pale companion. As his fingers found their objective, they quickly wrapped themselves around it. Though the hand stayed sadly limp and inactive, there was a sudden electric and somewhat guilty energy that filled Clark. He manipulated Lex's hand in his until he was able the trail his thumb over the palm, tracing the young man's lifeline. His thumb stayed active as his fore and middle fingers moved to entwine Lex's. 

He still felt so very guilty for what he saw as a violation of trust, but he couldn't pull his hand from Lex's. It just felt right and rational, this rare moment of privilege absolutely divine, filling his chest with sublime comfort and ease. This was the first time he had been able to touch Lex like he wanted to, the first time he could study the effects that such a purposeful touch had on him. The emotions flowing through him were almost overwhelming in their potency and staggering in their range: Guilt came first unfortunately, drubbing hard at the door of his conscience, telling him to stop. Need was high on the list, the pent up desire and lust he could not act upon close behind; an appreciation for their friendship was never far when it came to Lex, and his admiration for the boy's strength through adversity was strengthening. There was a fondness for the man beside him and a hope that he could have at least one single moment wherein the caresses would be reciprocated. Of course the anxiety that he would never have that moment always seemed to shadow the hope. And there was the worry of what Lex might discover about him, something he knew very little about himself. 

_…the stars tell no tales…_

There a deep want flowing through him, as well, and the tide was ever-rising. The want was to be blunt about everything to Lex, to just be the earnest and sincere boy he was raised to be and tell all to the young Luther, everything there was to know and whatever he could think of after that. To just empty his soul to the other man, and hope to the heavens- 

_…my home; my home is up there somewhere, isn't it?…_

-that Lex would take it in stride and help him sort everything out with a patience that Clark knew existed within him, a patience he desperately wanted, _craved_ for himself. 

There was also the possibly of lo- 

_…no…_

Clark breathed in a deep breath, not allowing himself to go there, to go too far, and continued his thumb's shameful and somewhat neurotic stroking, the connection creating thousands of individual tingles that, in turn, ran up his arm and throughout his body. Some lasted, melting slowly, others led evanescent, meteoric lives, and dissolved almost immediately. Like sugar on his tongue, it was just as sweet. 

_…these are a few of my favorite things…_

He rolled his eyes. "_That's_ not disturbed." Still, they were things that the other boy caused. 

_…and feels; he has to; he came to me while in need, I heard his heart leap at the sight of me; I know he feels the same- it's in those dark eyes, so haunted…_

Clark sneaked another guilt-ridden look at Lex whose body was slumped, leaning into the car door, a pillow up against the window bracing his head. He was resting in the most comfortable angle that Clark could find for him, but he still looked like he was going to have a tender neck in the morning and the last thing he needed was yet another aching malady. 

_…he doesn't know who- he doesn't _what _you are…_

That put a damper on Clark's rousing fervor. He shook himself out of his slightly hazy state, reluctantly letting go of Lex's hand. Dragging his own away, he ignored the impulse to linger, the zealous urge to trail his fingertips along the bare, hairless arm. The simple desire to caress that wan face, those full, pink lips that looked to be deceptively soft. 

_…they were soft…_

"Wha-" 

_…drowning in the river…_

"Oh," he whispered softly, realizing just what the deeper alcoves of his mind had been quicker to recall than he. It hadn't really hit Clark that he'd had those lips beneath him before. Until now. His second fortuitous opportunity to save Lex. Of course there was nothing erotic about the first, a more gut-wrenching experience than anything else. Lex's close call with death had been… Well, too close. 

As soon as Clark had splashed down in the water he had immediately gone after the man still trapped within the car, the deathtrap, realizing that there was not a moment to loose. He was so lucky that he had been- 

_…gifted with extra abilities; who else could have wrenched a roof clean away?…_

-able to pull Lex out. He had noticed the proud, young face was lifeless, the body unmoving, and he- 

_…so thankful to Chloe for annoying and pestering us until Pete and I took those CPR classes with her…_

-had done what little he could to bring the life back into that body. He had feared it wouldn't be good enough. 

_---Maybe I'm not strong enough or fast enough. I have superhuman abilities, damnit, but what use are they if I can't save people when they most desperately---_

Then Lex had breathed, allowing Clark to do the same. 

_…so relieved…_

Lex had breathed and lived, thereby entering Clark's world and completely twisting the hell out of it's old form, bending the rungs and bars with dexterous and seemingly effortless skill. Lex and his last name had inadvertently changed Clark's relationship with his parents, adding more tension and helping Clark to discover yet another way in which his parents weren't perfect. His mother was less close-minded than his father, but even she held her own inhibitions about Lex. 

And now, here sat Clark, next to the boy that mere weeks ago he had only heard about, through papers and magazines. Now here he sat, thinking about those lips containing live warmth instead of the chill of the almost dead. Those lips pulled in to a half-smirk or parted and readying themselves for some glossified, urbane quip. 

Or maybe pressed against his own, parted in passion, eager and willing this time. How would Lex's lips feel there? 

_…would they be gentle? playful? forceful in obvious infatuation? needy and crude in their desire, not afraid to be coarse? or would they be like clark's own: inexperienced and a bit timid, shying from the possibilities…_

He deeply doubted that anything about Lex would be inexperienced. 

He cleared his throat, shifting a little in his seat, and frowned at the direction his mind had taken. He sighed knowing that his feelings towards Lex were more abstract and complex than any he'd ever felt. There was a bond, something that tied the two of them together indefinitely. Clark knew that, he could _feel_ it every time the young Luther's name was mentioned, every time he saw the man from afar. But _just how_ the smooth headed boy had slinked his way into the position previously held by flowing, chocolately-brown hair, and matching eyes; how feelings for him had pushed to the side the care, the empathy and simple puppy dog love- 

_…oh, great; _**now**_ I see that what I feel- felt?- for Lana is puppy love; couldn't have figured that out _five years ago_?…_

-he would never know. But the young Luther of his mind was now holding top position and fighting hard for Clark's affections. And no matter how hard Clark tried to dissuade himself of his thoughts, the impassioned sentiments came back followed by the strong conviction that Lex felt the same way, shared an identical pathos. 

He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. Despite the fact that he could send a human over a hundred feet with a mere shove- despite the fact that he could break though solid ice with a simple punch- he couldn't seem to mash down thoughts of his friend. He found himself yearning to ditch the truck and carry the young man in his arms, cradling him there, not breaking the contact that seemed to assure both of them of something. Tension could be lifted from Lex and as for Clark… Well, Clark could hold Lex in a moment where restraining his ardor, his tenderness, would be wholly unnecessary. If only temporarily, he could savor the hedonistic proximity, and could take and keep from the moment everything he wanted. Best of all, what he remembered could last for as long as Clark was willing to commemorate it and he was sure that the moment he had touched and caressed Lex's hand would be taken to heart in perpetuity. 

_…as well as your guilt at not having permission…_

He blushed and wished he could be more like Lex. Live with no regrets, no remorse, no shame or guilt. If only his father had left out the suggestion that Clark drive so as not to appear conspicuous. Then he would have had to carry Lex, their bodies converging would be unavoidable, and Clark wouldn't feel like the world's largest pervert for holding Lex's hand. For wanting to and acting upon this want. 

The desire to feel Lex's body pressed against his, the want for comfort of such a simple physical nature, was hard to resist. It was already causing Clark to drive about fifteen miles under the norm, prolonging their drive just so he could keep the company for a little while more. He knew that once he got to Luther Manor and dropped the oblivious denizen off, he would have to get back home. He wouldn't have school the next day, as it was Sunday, but his father would probably be waiting up for him at home. 

_…waiting; if no one were waiting at the gate…_

Maybe he could carry Lex up to the mansion. 

_…to his room?…_

He could go slowly so that it appeared he was effected by the weight, and that way he could take a little longer. 

_…you are so pathetic, kent; grasp at any straw…_

Take any chance, make any excuse to be able to extend the needed corporeal connection. 

_…argh- damn teenage hormones…_

Luther Manor appeared over the hill, it's impending lights avaricious for the company of Lex, and Clark slowed even more. He didn't want to leave the small, intimate environment of the truck, didn't want to hand over his friend, but the lights, ever closer, twinkled through the trees, like stars through the gases of the Earth's atmosphere, reminding him of the distance between him and Lex. Him and every other human being. 

What would Lex think of him if he knew? 

_…he can _never_ know about me, ever; he just wouldn't understand…_

"How could he?" 

Clark drove up to the open gates, stopping on the outside instead of driving all the way up to the castle-like structure. He got out and breathed in the warm air, walking to Lex's side and deciding to carry the man the rest of the way. He figured that his distinction in ancestry made it impossible to ever allow himself a chance with the older boy, so why not take every random opportunity that befell him for a moment of pleasure like this. He'd try his best to take after Lex: do what you want, don't get caught, and don't feel bad. 

He laughed, blushing fiercely at the mere implication that he could take this advice. 

_…as if…_   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	5. Confession

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Five - Confession   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Lex remembers.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: I'm glad you guys like the story, and can't express how much it means to get the nice reviews :)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
WARNING: This, again, is a little AU [like Clark's bedroom being in the barn/hayloft]. I know very little about Lex's mother, but I know that this is a little different then what the show's going for. Therefore I claim AU-ness for the sake of being told later that I'm wrong ;) Besides, this way I get to make up my own background for Lex! Also, I   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: **_BIG ASS_** thanks to Lyle Brown, my beta reader. This is _so not_ his cup of tea. He gets his jollies from explosions, sex, chainsaws, and gratuitous violence, so I really appreciate his sticking with me! 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 5: Confession**

_His head was very heavy, but his legs- his legs felt nonexistent, light, like pillows. He was dizzy, nauseous and his lungs couldn't catch a deep breath. His chest and shoulders felt as if someone were pushing down on them with maniacal glee. There was something- a pain starting in his right shoulder down the shoulder blade, up the neck; a blinding, ragged pain that seemed to come with every half-ass breath that he drew._

_Then it was all gone._

_*_*_*_*_*_

He remembered falling, and falling, and falling… But not landing, never landing, and he wished that he did because then maybe it would all stop; if he could just land, then maybe the dizziness would stop and let him be. 

Flashes would come to him out of the swirling blackness. Memories. And now they were getting more memorable, more vivid. 

Lex desperately tried to stop it, to halt everything. He tried to stop his world from twisting and spiraling unceasingly, from being so damn confusing and sickening, but he just couldn't. He was helpless to end this onslaught of mental agony that continued to persist through his silent screams of dissent. 

Pictures, left and right, were now coming at him like some peculiar, fragmented homemade movie. They were of his mother, Lynette, nice, serene and wonderful. The illustration of how he remembered her: a perfect union of childhood freedom and maternal love, coming to bliss within his anamnesis. He was unaware of the change, but his lips turned upward in a smile very unlike that of a Luther. A smile that contained absolutely nothing but pure love and felicitous significance. 

_…mom…_

But something was wrong. Something was changing. The pictures of his mother were now fading, fading into obscurity. One of his father coming home, up the stairs, into Lex's hallway, and into his room- 

_…no…_

- to announce to his son- 

_…please, no…_

-his one and only son, that his mother was dead. 

Any sublime happiness was swept away by the harsh hand of time, now fast forwarded for the sake of recall. The place he associated with death of his mother, the abode of his worst memory ever, came into view. Images of that hated place, the cold and sterile wake, began to commit themselves to his long-suffering mind. 

_---My feet shuffle sadly down the carpeted floor in a solitary walk to the body of the woman that I love so… It's as if I'm walking to an execution, not of another person, not even of myself- which might be a more humane demise than whatever God has in store for me now- but instead the execution of my world. The world that she made her own just by being in it, just by being _there_. This world that she has always been in. The walk to her body is the most onerous and unrelenting of my life.---_

_…my mother; I can't see this again; I've been through it once, isn't that enough?…_

_---My father sits, stony-eyed and unmoving, cold and more dead than his wife. Dead to the world, her world, every world. Gone.---_

Lex never saw Lionel cry. Never saw him shed even a single tear for the one human being so solely devoted to him. He wondered if his father had been too far gone from the teachings of his own old man to really feel the loss; if he had been completely- 

_…numb; he was numb…_

-devoid of all emotion at the site of his own wife's lifeless body. 

_…numb to the world; it's the Luther trait, the Luther gift…_

Lex preferred to think that if anything had made his father the inimical and hollow man he was, it would have been the death of the one person in the world that could ever reach his heart, that organ so well hidden and locked away it was an enigma, a marvel that she had found the damn thing at all. 

_…did she really? did he ever love her like I did? like I _do_? did he ever live in her world? if he did and she found his heart, she must have taken it with her when she left us…_

The memory of reaching her coffin hit him. 

_---Tears so close at hand, but I won't let them fall, I will not let my father see them because I've already begun to experience the chilly depths that exist within the man. I pass my father in the front row, an impassive statue- a very monument to the Luther apathy that I know will eventually burrow it's way into my own being.---_

_…will I fight it? please tell me I will, that- that I _can_…_

He had blinked, still looking straight ahead, then gazed down inside coffin- 

_…so stiff and lonely looking; I don't want to die like that…_

_---I see the eyes shut in that same image of perpetual slumber that every loved one so desperately wants- _needs_- to see. The only difference is that I know the peace I see in her face is a false one, I know that the rest is an uneasy one. It's the same uneasy rest that is the communal status quo of anyone who happens to die before their lot is truly up, before they have their chance to finish and say goodbye.---_

_…never had the chance to say goodbye…_

_---As I bend to kiss a cheek so stiff and cold, a tear slides from my cheek and down to hers. When I pull back, I don't dare wipe it away. It's something that I can give her, my own sorrow at my mother's abrupt finale, the proof of my love that she deserves but will never receive from her husband. I stare at the single tear, unmoving on the pale porcelain doll face that had once been my mother. Now it is merely the shell, the paper wrapper, the leftovers of something so wonderful and understanding and… human._

_I stare at her face, knowing that the coroner has painted the life into her lips---_

_…from which I would no longer acquire kisses goodnight, no more verbal restorations of a young Luther's confidence, shot down from typical childhood agonies; I was on my own and _knew_ it…_

_---and has brushed that hair. Hair so soft it was almost impossible to feel, to grasp; like stardust, it was there, you just couldn't feel it.---_

_…unless it was tickling you on the cheek as she bent forward to kiss you goodnight…_

_---The stranger had also added the flush to her cheeks, which had once upon a time been illuminated by a natural glow. As I look at her eyes I try not to know what else the coroner has changed, taken, opened and shut. What he has removed from my mother. I already know that if I place a hand above her breast to feel that rhythm, the comforting beat, it will be gone. But I don't want to know that her heart is no longer there.---_

_…the body would have suited Lionel so much better; hollowed from the inside out…_

_---Instead I try to picture her eyes, the color of rich emerald leaves illuminated from behind by the sun's platinum rays. I close my own eyes, another two tears escape, and I try furiously to bring to mind what they had looked like filled to the brim with mirth at my many childish antics. I can't seem to catch the right amount of light in her eyes, can't seem to find the right number of crinkles in the sides, or the correct angle of her head, cocked to one side in an endearing habit of hers; I'm straining to remember how her piercingly carmine hair---_

_…the _one thing_ that I had received from my mom, the _one single proof _that I was her son, and it was taken from me so soon after I lost her…_

_---had brought out the verdant richness and the pale ivory in her face; how- how…---_

He couldn't remember. He was losing her. 

_---The coroner, some outsider, foreign to my family, has sewn those kind eyes, warm with tenderness, shut forever. They will never again open, never look at me with pride or love or stern admonishment. They will never look upon another human, another smile. They will never seem like the motherly caress that could bring me out of any problem. They would never---_

He didn't get any further. He had simply broken down. At that moment the nine year old Luther realized all that he had lost. His one true ally in the world. His one true hero. The only person in the world that would hold him, love him and never give up on him. The one person that wasn't afraid to show the world what she felt, to be herself even though that sometimes meant ache and loss and suffering. 

At that moment he realized that the strongest and bravest person that he knew was also the most scared, the most fragile, and the most- 

_…vulnerable…_

-lost to him. He was young, but he wasn't truly naive. The veritable depth of his loss lacerated his heart, ripping into him that day and taking something, something vital and pure, necessary to remain mortal and sane, and never planned on returning it. 

It had taken Lex Luther's soul, the essence of his life. 

_---I fall on my knees then and there, my hands gripping the edge of the coffin with fingers and knuckles whitening in recognition of my grip, a grip of fear and pain and loss. I stay as if rooted to the casket and floor, whimpering, sobbing with my forehead against the dark and chilly, lacquered wood, calling out softly for my mom._

_After a few minutes I feel hands grasp me firmly around my middle, gentle in understanding, and I began to wail. I turn quickly into the arms of my father, pressing my face, defiled with tears, to the black suit and let go. I begin saying things, but what I'm saying isn't clear to my ears. They are only words after all, and words mean nothing, words can never mean anything again, and certainly can mean nothing right now. Too much pain, but pain is just another word, isn't it? Nothing is accurate, nothing to comprehend, nothing to be right. Nothing ever could be right again._

_There are murmurs and whispers, assurances, hands caressing my head, running through my crimson hair- so like Lynette's- in comfort. At least my father is here for me. He can never bring her back. He can never make things better, but he could try, and isn't that better in and of itself? Doesn't that save me? Save us?_

_I pull back, needing to see if the same emotions flow through my father's heart and out his eyes. Only it isn't Lionel who holds me._

_I turn back to glance at the front row to find that my father hadn't budged, and I realize my ruination has come. Not with a whisper, or a bang, but with a simple inaction from a man whose depletion was resonant and reserved for only the walking dead._

_I just stand there, responding to nothing but the desolate emptiness within. No more words can reach my soul, no more words that try to enter my ears will ever reach the hole inside, the void I need to find some way to fill. I just stand there staring at my father. And Lionel just stares back, his expression the same as it has been since Lynette had died._

_Hands gently pushed me forward, out of the room. Hands- I don't know nor care to whom they belong- then lead me to a seat where I merely sit, I don't know for how long. Later the hands move me to a limo, separate from my father's, then another seat, this time at the memorial service. I sit unseeing and uncommunicative beside my father and stare at the hole in the ground, ready to receive the corpse of something that had once been dear to me.---_

_…never again…_

_---The dirt covers my mother, now lowered into the ground. As is covers the coffin, my humanity is also attended to, coated with the same grime as the carapace encasing her.---_

_…only mine can never be removed, never; I won't _allow _it to be…_

_---The hands come back to retrieve me and they lead me back to the limo, then to the gathering where they assign me food to eat. The hands finally lead me to my room where they tuck me into bed, caress my unmoving face, then, their job completed, they turn off the light and close the door._

_None of it matters. Nothing matters anymore.---_   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	6. Everything

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Six - Everything   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Lex discovers.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: Please keep R&Ring. It's so great to know what you guys all think of the story!   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
**#1: **I keep seeing both green and blue in Tom Welling's eyes. For the hell of it _Clark's_ eyes are blue, and I don't care what color Tom's are [well I **do**, but I picked the blue fragment of his spectrum for this fic].   
**#2: Important**: This chapter and the one before it were originally a single chapter and were to be Chapter 3, but then I decided to add to the story. I wrote this **_before_** the 11-20-01 episode "Hourglass" and was very freaked out by a single similarity between the two [as was my beta reader].   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Thanks to Lyle Brown. 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 6: Everything**

The memories changed to things less potent and less constant, leaving him mentally dull and partly unseeing. He hadn't relived his mother's wake- 

_…my father's betrayal…_

-and the funeral service… Any of that whole day in a very long time. 

Reflections of Lex Luther's youth were hovering above him. They glistened and shimmied as if fashioned out of water that mirrored the past, a puddle of memories that had been stepped in, it's ripples content to wind endlessly back and forth, back and forth without ever stopping. 

Childhood fights and wrong doings swam in that puddle tauntingly, as if mocking his mother's previous influence, as if saying none to subtly that everything he loved about her had failed on him. 

_...that _I_ had failed _her_..._

The puddle was mocking him, revealing his inner most fear, his most formidable phobia- that he was not his mother's child, that he was his _father's_ son and always would be. 

The memories continued to come as the floating puddle drew nearer, only highlighting his dread. The faces of people who had betrayed him became more distinguishable and were followed by the people he himself had cast aside and discarded after use. Those that he completely dishonored. Flashes of his rare but potent nightmares caused a stir in his gut and his constant turn away from people that might be in a position to- 

_…love me…_

-hurt him seemed to own a bit part in this 'Lex Luther Feature Presentation'. Memories of times when his unguarded self would be exposed, the naked emotions showing blatantly, and his father would hammer away at them until he had once again formed something from his son that he deemed acceptable. 

_…at least until the next time…_

As abruptly as it all had begun, everything stopped. It just sort of... froze. The puddle, no longer shimmering, was lingering on an image of his father: long hair, cold and senseless eyes, lips pulled back into a grimace. Then it faded to black. 

Lex was momentarily left a little light-headed as the obscurity before him went hazy but stayed motionless. He calmed, deeply preferring the nothingness- 

_…what I always prefer…_

-to what had been. As he calmed, the atmosphere of the oblivion before him became more sedate and a slower, more mellow picture show began showing more memories, this time ones he could stand to view. 

_\\\clark's face above him; saving him from death; giving him back his life, giving him the chance for a _new_ life\\\_   
_\\\clark's relieved face as he saw Lex coming at him through the corn\\\_   
_\\\clark's trusting face smiling at him\\\_   
_\\\clark's smiling face\\\_   
_\\\clark's face\\\_   
_\\\clark's eyes, sure and peaceful and content\\\___

_…I feel so- tranquil…_

At least this time the flashes had a theme that he could willingly center on. 

_\\\clark\\\_

_…clark…_

In the blink of an eye- 

_…or the beat of a heart…_

-he was standing in a field at night, wearing his tee and sweatpants, barefoot and completely alone. Light gleamed down all around him, but on what he couldn't tell. The whole field looked to be occupied by a strange hybrid of wheat, coming up to his knees. It had no color: the reflected glow of the shine evoked by the silvery moon masqueraded as pigment, it's brilliance only increased by the other heavenly bodies above, affixing their own effulgence to the scene. 

_…gorgeous in a divine and distorted way, but why's it so-…_

Deathly silent. No animals, no insects. He couldn't even hear himself breathe. He slowly turned, taking in the panoramic view of nothing but the sterling expanse of field and more field, all just beneath the cover of the pinpricked black velvet of the sky. Off in the distance, miles away and almost invisible, was the pitch-black silhouette of trees, lining most of the horizon. 

_…where am I?…_

As Lex watched, a breeze began to make its way towards him through the wheat-like grass, the lustrous reeds swaying together in the soft wind, like ocean plants after food. As it reached him a chill began from the inside of his body and moved hastily outward. He could feel a sort of… an icy core inside of him, like he- like he was freezing, but that was not really it. He- he was beginning to get… _numb_. 

_…oh, no…_

He was numbing and alone, feeling as lost to the world as always, but he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be so… so scared and- 

_…NO…_

Tears, hot tears of anger and self-contempt began to well up in his eyes. He wouldn't admit _that_, of all things. He wouldn't become it or let it take him over. Not again. Not ever again. If he ever knew what true pain was the single reason was that he had succumbed. He was a _Luther_, proud and righteous, and whether he wanted that or not it was a fact. Not a circumstance from which he could pick and chose commodities. What you got was it, and he would never, ever be- 

"Vulnerable." 

Lex shut his eyes to the whispered word materializing from behind him, and willed the tears to retreat. He then turned to face whoever was foolish enough to stand near him, _with_ him in his solitude. He was meant to be alone, born to be alone. It couldn't be changed. 

His eyes widened as they met the familiar and peaceful features mere feet from him and he stepped back in surprise. 

_…it can't- no! born to be alone; I was born anew when my mother died…_

He swallowed, turning his face down and away, not wanting to be seen like this, not by anyone, but especially not by _him_. "Clark, I_…_" He trailed off. It was not often in his life that he was left speechless, but he had no words for this moment, no words to express just why he didn't want Clark to see him. 

_…why can't I just tell him to leave me be?…_

Because maybe he didn't want Clark to just _leave him be_. Maybe he couldn't keep up the charade anymore, the lack of feeling, wit sharper than Ginsu, resolve tougher than steel about everything. There was beauty in release, right? 

_…that can't be it; if anyone were to leave me with something to say and no way to vocalize it-…_

"Clark…" he tried again, but got no further. 

The usually demure farm boy took the initiative by stepping forward and the nickel-colored reeds sundered in front of him, clearing a path leading to Lex. He crossed the short distance, the path closing behind him, and placed a hand on his friend's face. Lex gasped as the chill left him completely, vacating his body and mind, replaced by a warm and heated comfort beginning to grow within his stomach. He unintentionally snuggled his cheek further into the hand, letting his suddenly heavy eyelids droop. 

_…he can't see me like this…_

Clark used his cupped hand to force the other man to meet his eyes. "It doesn't matter, Lex." 

He let out shaky breath at the sound of his name, the utterance sympathetic and intimate. He hadn't realized just how fervently he needed to hear Clark's unique timbre, his rich and sweet tone, until his body shivered in acceptance and willingness to follow. From the same voice that melted him with every word, he wanted more. 

Clark smiled, looking as if he understood every shadow of Lex's internal debate. "It doesn't matter what I see of you. I could never hurt or betray you." 

Lex took the time to really peer into those eyes and found something that he couldn't believe, he couldn't conceive. There was trust in those eyes, and selflessness. Admiration- 

_…for me? but why?…_

-and faith, but most of all, most confusing and tormenting of all, yet undeniably still there was love. Simple and thick. 

He felt his knees go weak. 

_…love…_

_///mom///_

"I can't-" He pulled away from Clark and the warmth disintegrated, leaving the chill to slice back into him like the finest iciest, blade. He lost his breath, almost doubling over from the impact. How he hated to be cold, to feel- 

_…and therefore be-…_

-nothing. How he hated this dulling senselessness. 

He wrapped his bare arms around his chest, the tee-shirt doing an infinitesimal amount of work to keep him warm, and tried to draw in a breath. He found he could get no more than a pant or two into his desperate lungs. He was suffocating. 

He dared to look behind him, dared to glance back at the face that led him to peace every time he was lucky enough to receive the view, and saw inexplicable comprehension in the eyes that existed there. 

"Clark," he whispered, more to himself than to the boy. 

_…warmth…_

Field. 

_…cold…_

His breath became more ragged as he turned his whole body back to Clark, looking unabashedly for answers to his bewildered mind, his lost and chaotic soul. 

_…he makes me feel- something; is he- could he be-…_

Yes. Clark was the fire that could warm him, the flames that could keep him human, keep him from- from numbing completely. The field was his life, his father, his _world_, cold and harsh. Disappointing and restrictively cruel to the last judgment, the last calculation. 

_…my world of calculations; but which is stronger?? the cold, or the fire?…_

His eyes quickly traversed the field that dwelled banefully around him, encompassing him. It's wind whispered throughout the grains, bellowing with malignancy of what it was to be him, screaming harshly to the sky about the ill-starred fatality of a Luther. This vacant lot was his future home, it was all he knew how to be, all he knew to expect. 

_…which is stronger?…_

His icy hands with stiff, insensate fingers, ran up and down the length from his shoulders to his elbows, a puny and feeble attempt to stay extant without Clark's help, without Clark's comfort or closeness- 

_…or touch…_

-but he could no longer feel the movements with his arms or hands. 

_…the world or clark? my world or- or my clark?…_

He shut his eyes to the numbness, knowing that in just a few moments, he wouldn't care, he wouldn't have to make the decision. It would be made for him. Because that's what the numbness did. It took you over, became you, made you not care. 

It made you Lionel. 

_…oh, god, no; please- which is stronger?…_

With what little was left untouched by the dulling sensations, he hoped to God that it was Clark. 

"Lex." The voice was kind and patient, coaxing. "Come here." Not a stern tone but more of a knowing plea. There was- there was _want_ beneath the words. 

He had a say in this, too, didn't he? He couldn't let Clark see him like this. This wasn't him. 

"It is, though. It's a part of you, Lex." He opened his eyes to the younger boy, still unmoving, but not uncaring. "Everything you do is." 

Those eyes knew him, and knew him completely. Those blue eyes that were not the color of ice, but the color of the deepest and warmest, _hottest_, ocean water, hidden beneath miles and miles of the acrid liquid. It was the color of the depths he had seen, the depths that he had been drawn to every time he went scuba diving. Something below, something warm and comfortable called to him, promising him the glorious absence of his internal void, promising him tranquility. The call only got stronger each time, and now he was close, the closest he had ever been. He had found the color of his refuge, his place to run and hide from the world, but not from the one that could love him. If only he could reach out and grasp hold- find the courage within himself to take that final dive and swim to where he belonged. 

_…please…_

He glanced at the body of his friend, someone he was more than fond of, someone that he had an ardent devotion to, and wondered what kept Clark so warm. Love, maybe? Had the boy had found his own color, his own haven? Had he been born with it? 

_…how lucky…_

Lex could feel the numbness starting to settle in his chest. Soon he knew he wouldn't have to feel the things his world had to offer. Pain. Loss. 

_…mom…_

"Please, Lex." There was now a tinge of worry in that voice. "Don't do this. Come to me." 

Lex looked back into the Mariana Trench that was Clark's gaze, and realized that no offer had ever been more tempting. In them, he could see the world as he would have liked it and through them he could see that everything would be okay. 

"Here." A hand raised and Lex looked down at it. The offering, the gesture, was so simple, yet so abstruse to reciprocate. If he took it the numbness would go away, and he could be warm. He could be warm forever, as long as he never let go. He could be in the right place. Clark's hands, his arms- 

_…his love…_

-could keep Lex safe and warm and alive. But there'd be pain. 

If he refused to surrender to those azure orbs and the outstretched hand, then he could become completely numb to the world, unable to feel anything like hate- 

_…and faith…_

-and fear- 

_…and love…_

-and worst of all vulnerability. 

_…no, worst of all, I wouldn't be able to feel _Clark_…_

"Please, Lex." Those eyes again. That ocean of compassion, of insight. Beyond all things, he wanted to be there, lost in the middle of the mer, the otherwise barren chasm, with no compass and downed sails. "Trust." 

A sob wrecked through him as he reached out his hand. He _knew_ he could trust the deus of Clark's sea. 

Forget the numbness, the aloofness, the indifference. Forget the inability to comprehend emotions and feel empathy. _He wanted to feel_. And more than anything in this world, in any world, he wanted to feel _Clark_. The open honesty with which he had always trusted Lex, the mutual friendship, the face that always greeted him with a smile. Not an inch of judgement, but an entire world of peace and belief. Clark was his own personal dogma, exclusively so. If there was anything in the world worth being vulnerable for, it was Clark Kent. 

"I do. I trust you." 

Their hands met and the numbness that had moved up to his chest, that had surrounded his arms and legs, his heart and lungs, the numbness that had threatened to completely take over… It was gone. Like that. 

_…thank God, the heat's stronger; stronger than the cold…_

As soon as his flesh met Clark's, the warmth blazed a hot pursuit through him and he inhaled deeply, his lungs breathing in the sweet, warm air. 

_…Clark's stronger than the world…_

"No. _You're _stronger, Lex. You made the decision." 

Lex lifted his gaze from their clasped hands and looked up into the deepness of the eyes observing him. 

_…I trust him completely with everything I am…_

"Remember that." Clark's arms wrapped around him and he could hold back no more. He didn't want to any longer. This felt more real, the boy more solid, than Lex's whole life. 

He began to cry, and hard. Not since the wake had he let himself fall like this, tears he had saved up for the last fourteen years coming out against the strong body that held him. He wrapped his arms around the waist of his savior, pressed his face roughly into Clark's neck. The boy was now two for two, and Lex was exalted. He now fathomed that he had once again found an ally. He had found arms that would hold him without shame, someone who was not afraid of the world and the pain that it might inflict. 

Someone that would bring to him a courage he had never known for himself. And he could learn. He was always willing to learn.   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**   



	7. Digital Bath

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Seven - Digital Bath   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Clark tries to help.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: Please! Want to know how well this goes over!   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Again to Lyle Brown who has reassured my confidence so many times :)   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oops! Please forgive a few mistakes here and there in my writing [most that a beta reader could not catch]. I have fixed them and hope it makes the story better. Thanks. 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 7: Digital Bath**

"He needs an IV? For running?" 

"He's dehydrated, Mister Kent." 

Clark winced, but kept quiet. He had already tried to convince the awaiting staff at Luther Manor to call him Clark- after all, who calls a sixteen year old boy 'Mister'?- but none of them had heeded his polite request. 

Marcy, an old British nurse lucky if she was all of four feet tall, had been the one to lead him to the bedroom earlier, with Lex still in his arms. Now she looked up at him and saw his doubtful expression as he glanced uneasily at Lex, currently covered with a thick, midnight-blue comforter, but still shivering. 

She smiled sweetly. "He's not bad off, sir. The IV's not completely necessary, but it'll help him replace the fluids his body has lost." 

Clark hated seeing his friend looking so... weak, and the IV was vastly contributing to that vision of delicacy. 'Weak' and 'delicate' were two words he never would have guessed he'd ever use in thinking of Lex Luther. This whole night had been completely unsettling as far as Clark's conception of the older boy, like soil at the bottom of the ocean being disturbed. Only he knew it would be a long while before his sand settled. "He couldn't just drink some water or a sports drink?" 

_…has to be better than a needle in the arm…_

Her smile grew in both obvious pride at her work and humor at Clark's needless fretting. "Master Lex commands only the best care." 

_…master? dad would have a field day with this…_

"Well, how long does he have to have it in?" 

"Just a couple hours, until the bag runs out." 

A groan came from the bed followed by a small sob, and both Marcy and Clark rushed the few feet to the bedside. Marcy put her hand to Lex's forehead and for a moment Clark thought she was feeling for a temperature. Then he saw her eyes and was surprised to see such a deep worry and fondness. 

_…she really cares…_

She must have caught Clark's bewildered expression at her response to Lex's small outcry, because she shook her head. "Master Luther's not as bad as people tend to say and think. He's a good man... for the most part." She hesitated then looked back to Clark, intense copper eyes narrowing. 

_…not in suspicion; in _comprehension_…_

"But then you already know that, don't you, Clark?" He just nodded, knowing that his eyes were exposing more truth than any words could ever bare justice to. Marcy turned back to Lex. "He used to have such nightmares when he was younger, just a child," she said, more to herself than to Clark. Her voice lowered to a whisper, breathing words he was barely able to make out. "He still is, really." 

Shaking herself out of the reverie, she stood abruptly and walked to the door, Clark close behind, watching Lex's form warily. "I'll be staying on with him, sir." Her voice was stronger, accent more pronounced. The moment of unveiled endearment had passed, yet the aftertaste lingered pleasantly, like kind words touching the heart and making a bantam but perceivable change in one's soul. "No need worry." 

Clark nodded, stopping in front of the heavy, carved entrance- and exit- to Lex's penthouse-like berth. "That's good." Reluctant to leave, his eyes were still on what little he could see of the sleeping figure. From the awkward angle of the bed and his position he could only see the arm with the embossed IV line. "I should probably get going." 

"He'll be fine, Mister Kent, really." She paused and Clark saw her turn her head to the side, pondering him. He tore his eyes from Lex to look at her. 

"If you wanted to stay a bit longer, I don't foresee it being a problem." 

"My dad- he, um-" 

_…just how much should I tell?…_

He settled for simplicity. "He's waiting up." 

"Hmmm... Yes, well, it did take a long while for Phil to wake me, didn't it?" 

"But you were waiting for-" 

"And we couldn't have got him up here without your help. Really, we couldn't have." 

Clark smiled crookedly, getting the gist. Phil, the cook, was fairly old, as was Marcy, but Eric, the gardener, was young, full of energy and strength. He had been fit enough and even offered to carry Lex up to his room- an offer Clark had not taken him up on- siting pure momentum and 'well, I've gone this far' as his excuses. 

The point was, Clark had actually been perfectly expendable. 

Marcy smiled back at him. "I'll be outside if you'd like to stay for a moment or two." He smiled his thanks and she reached up, almost straining, to pat his face without the formal reserve. Her hands felt like warm, well-worn leather against his face, comfortable and very familiar. "I'm so glad that Master Lex has such a good friend in you." 

_…a good friend that took every opportunity to grope his incapacitated comrade…_

He winced at the thought, blushing slightly as Marcy closed the door behind her. It wasn't exactly groping, but then again… It wasn't purely platonic either. 

Left alone in the room with Lex, he walked over to the portion that held the bed, raised on a platform like area, and he stepped up onto it. He couldn't bare to really look at the other man- already naturally so pale- now looking bleached in the moonlight. The frailty his eyes viewed there made him realize once again the differences between him and every other person on the planet. The fragility of a human life compared to his... it was like the difference between the sun and the moon, or the ocean and the sky. Only the sun and the moon, the ocean and the sky... They were two halves of a single entity put together, or four quarters of the Earth's own whole; parts of this planet's unique existence. He was an outsider, something that stuck out like a dead flower on a blossoming bush. 

_…maybe I was sent here to become part of this world, to make things better…_

Hopeful thought, but looking at Lex at the moment didn't seem to support it, so he averted his eyes, glancing around the room. The lights had been off upon entering Lex's bedroom and had stayed off- Marcy had been adamantly asserting that 'Master Lex' needed the rest- but the bay widows around the platform area of the bedroom and the glass doors leading off onto a balcony provided enough light that Clark could tell the room was large and utterly regal. Rugs, large and teeming bookshelves, tapestries, a fireplace, an armoire; doors that no doubt led off to both a bathroom and a closet, most likely big enough to shame his real room. 

Even Lex's bed was awe-inspiring: a king sized, sled-shaped deal, made with deep, dark redwood that he could just make out in the moonlight. The bed was in the center of the raised portion of the "chamber", the huge headboard facing the view instead of the rest of the room. 

That the bed faced outside made perfect sense to Clark. Staring out the glass barrier in front of him, he saw there were steps leading to a large balcony a few feet below the glass doors. It showed a picturesque view of the gardens and a portion of the lake that cut into the Luther property. Why would anyone want to face walls and a ceiling when you had the opportunity to wake up to that. Rain, sleet, or snow, Clark knew it would be gorgeous. 

He stepped up to the glass door, putting one hand to the cool pane, and craned his neck upwards in an attempt to survey the heavens. 

_…ah, comes complete with it's own star-studded view…_

It must have been stunning from the balcony. 

A low, mournful sound and a sudden quiver had him at Lex's side instantly, cursing himself for abandoning his friend for the spectacles about him, condemning himself for his own selfish reasons for not wanting to look at the Luther. He sat down beside him and wondered for the millionth time just what he could be envisaging. Clark hadn't thought of Lex as a spirit this tormented, hadn't thought that too much could penetrate this deeply. Sure, he knew there were secrets, deep things that bothered Lex, but he never thought that anything could have broken the man, leaving the fearful boy to wander alone and unsure. 

Would he remember anything in the morning? Clark doubted Lex's body would let him forget the run, each individual ache recounting it's own woeful tale, but what of the dream? Would it leave tender regions with inflamed and blistered emotional wounds to tend to? He didn't know. 

Lex shivered again and Clark moved closer, wrapping the heavy comforter around his friend's slim body, up to his shoulders. 

_…why's he so cold?…_

It had been cooler- still warm at about seventy-something degrees- in the truck than it was in here and surely when Clark had been carrying him up to the manor- 

_…christ, I never even thought of his body temperature…_

-it would have been the coldest with the air and the slight breeze. So why get so cold underneath the covers? 

Lex's shivering abruptly became more extreme, almost violent in nature, and Clark didn't know what to do. He felt as though the right thing would be to get Marcy, positive that she would move quickly, assured in the procedure. Still, something in him told him that he should try- 

_…what can I do, though?-…_

-to calm Lex himself. As the older boy's teeth began to chatter, Clark went for the only action he could think of, that night's only proven method of comfort: contact. He pulled back the covers and grabbed for Lex's hand, pulling it into both of his. It stayed slack, unresponsive to Clark's touch, but Lex's jaw clenched. 

"Lex?" Clark hesitantly reached out with his right hand and grazed Lex's face, not sure if he should wake him- Marcy had been _very _insistent- but preferring to try to do something, anything, to help besides getting the nurse. Being awake had to be better than being tortured by his dreams. "Lex, can you hear me?" 

The hand tightened on his, startling him, and for an instant he thought Lex had awakened. He looked up in hopes of wide open eyes. Instead, he found the lids clenched tight, tears running down the sides and this was too much for Clark. He hated tears and anguish and fear, especially in those that he loved and kept close to his heart. It was just too much. He pulled the young Luther to him, startled yet again as Lex's arms instantaneously snaked their way around his waist, desperately clinging in a grip that would have, no doubt, caused major damage to the ribs of anyone that was not- 

_…nearly invincible?…_

-so strong. Clark looked to make sure the IV was still there and functioning, and felt Lex's face press tightly into his neck and jacket. 

_…can he even breathe?…_

He began to sob heavily, a body-quaking requiem finally breaking through the steel barriers that seemed to have obstructed the waterworks for sometime. 

_…oh, man; Lex…_

"Shhh…" Clark rocked a little back and forth, back and forth, running his hands firmly down Lex's shoulder blades and his spine, then back up. "Shhh… It's just a dream, Lex, it's just a dream. It's okay. Just wake up and it'll go away." 

A sliver of light caught his attention and he looked up, over the headboard in time to see Marcy looking away and the door closing. Apparently she had heard Lex- 

_…how could she not?…_

-had come to check up on him and found it best to just leave the two as they were. This gave Clark a small boost as far as his confidence in his ability to actually alleviate his friend. If Marcy, who seemed to have known Lex since his birth, thought that Clark could handle this, then who was he to think he couldn't? 

He continued his rocking and massaging. "It's okay, Lex. Shhh…" 

"Clark?" came a choked whisper through the tears. "Clark." The second time was stronger, a statement, and it was replete with a level of gratitude that made Clark feel as though he had saved the world from imploding instead of merely waking an ailing friend from a horrible nightmare. 

"Yes," he whispered back. "It's me. I'm here." He said nothing else, feeling that nothing else was appropriate, feeling as if all that had been necessary was already there, out in the open. 

_…he knows I'm here for him…_

That was all that mattered. 

+_+_+_+_+ 

After a while, Clark had no real idea of how long it might have been- 

_…it doesn't matter; he needs me, _**me**_…_

-Lex's threnody was replaced by coarse whimpers coupled with a few coughs and his andiron grip began to yield, no longer fixated frenetically around Clark's middle. 

"Lex?" he prodded gently and dug into his jacket pocket, finding the handkerchief that he always carried. A few words of wisdom from his father when Clark was younger about girls in distress and guys with tissues being defenders of their honor had stuck with him, though now the last thing he was thinking about was being the hero to a damsel in distress. 

He pried the man back from his shoulder to wipe at the tear-stained face, but Lex couldn't handle the distance and leaned his forehead to touch Clark's. Clark breathed in deeply trying to control the stutter of his heart and began removing the tears best as he could in such close quarters, clearing the debris of such a personal demolition. Lex's eyes stayed shut as if this was the only way he could allow the tender treatment with any dignity: if he didn't have to see it, it made it okay. 

_…seeing it makes it real and he doesn't want to admit he's so desolate and in need of anything or anyone…_

At this realization, Clark's hand slowed, fingers now using the handkerchief to trace Lex's cheekbone gradually down to the soft, dampened cheek, outlining that part of his face. 

_…so lonely; both of us…_

Lex pulled back half a foot and Clark's hankie-covered finger never dropped the contact. The other boy's eyes opened slowly, looking down and still hooded by the lids. Clark's stomach began to heat up sweetly in tension. "Lex?" 

Those blue-gray eyes slowly began up, following the trail of Clark's shirt under the jacket. They stopped at the neck, then closed. Lex lifted his head a little and then opened his eyes, looking directly into Clark's and through him. Clark flushed deeply in the moonlight, the stare creating such dynatron, so open and raw, so unlike anything Lex Luther had dared to show him- 

_…anyone?…_

-before. 

Clark began to breathe faster and his heart sped up as he moved the handkerchief to the other hand, breaking the eye contact. He watched his own hand as he began the same path on the left side of Lex's face as he had with the right, only this time he as he let his forefinger- inside the handkerchief- move down Lex's face, he used the bare tip of his median finger to trail behind, caressing the skin. Lex's eyes fluttered but did not close or look away, still watching Clark's. Though Clark refused to look into those steely, pleading blues, he saw the heat there, mixed with something he really couldn't identify. 

_…so damn intense…_

Lex's skin felt smooth to the touch, at least what little Clark could feel with his single, work callused- and therefore desensitized- digit. He wanted more, so much more than just a single fingertip on a small portion of Lex's face. He wanted everything, wanted to give and take, confer and receive, hold nothing more or less than what was here now. To stay here and now. 

_…you can't, kent; you can't be huma-…_

"Clark?" Another splintered whisper, coarse with emotions that spoke in volumes the voice seemed incapable of. 

Vanishing into aridity without the deep intensity of those eyes on his own, having a situation within himself containing levels of exigency too high to ignore, not to mention the painful curiosity... It all drove him to finally look into those resplendent but sorrow-filled eyes. They seemed to belong more to a lost puppy than a Luther. 

_…so lonely…_

Eye contact established, Lex moved forward, towards Clark, and since there were only inches between them, it was only a moment- much too long and so wonderfully short at the same time- until Clark felt the parted lips brush against his, Lex's hot breath flowing over them. 

_…oh, god…_

Lex pulled slowly back, watching Clark's lips with more awareness and less haze, more of an understanding for what they both wanted. Clark's heart was now ramming hard in his chest, his breath was abating at an alarming rate and all he could think of was grabbing Lex and never letting go, kissing him until the end of the world came, staying with him until everything was gone. Just making all the fear go away. 

_…I can't do this…_

Lex looked up into Clark's eyes, causing Clark's breath to hitch. Lex's eyes said they had imagined Clark a million times like this, stared as if they were absorbing, memorizing everything about him, like they wanted nothing more than him. They were Clark's own, mirrored impossibly to the last shred of shining emotion in Lex's. 

Most importantly though, they called out that they really knew him. 

_…he doesn't know me, though…_

Lex looked hungrily back down to Clark's mouth. 

_…he can't possibly know me…_

Lex started forward, taking his time, and Clark's eyes closed unwittingly on him in anticipation of the pliant softness promising to touch his lips again. Again after such a long wait full of hidden and suppressed desires. He had closed his eyes wanting so desperately to feel Lex even though he was screaming at himself to leave before he got hurt, to leave before Lex got hold of his soul and wouldn't let go. 

To leave before parts of him got lost, never to be found again. 

Lex's lips brushed against Clark's again- 

_…oh, Lex, please don't…_

-and this time he pressed himself hard against Clark, using the jacket- clamped solid within his fists- as an anchor to pull them chest to chest. 

_…you don't understa-…_

Lex's tongue slipped out from between his lips and ran slowly over Clark's bottom lip. 

"Lex," his gruff voice, deeper than usual and unrecognizable to his own ears, warned that maybe this wasn't the best course of action. Lex shivered slightly and his tongue stroked Clark's lips again, and this time his resistance ran out. 

He grabbed Lex's shoulders, desperately holding the man to him, and pushed his tongue into Lex's open mouth, seeking out its companion. Clark found it and began kissing him with every ounce of zest, every ounce of fear and passion, of love and sorrow he had in him. Every emotion between the two became a singular experience, feelings melding into a whole. He could feel Lex's loneliness, the desperation, the level of hunger, and was amazed as it fit his own so completely. He could feel the realization pass between the two: they had found something that fit. 

He tasted the salt of tears within the moist cove and tried to clean it out, tried to take it into himself, as if taking that briny flavor, that certification of Lex's apprehension- over something, as of now, still foreign to him- would then clear it forever from the man that he- 

_…loves?…_

-cared for to a painful amount. 

He sensed Lex's warm hand moving up his neck, his fingers leaving his skin to tingle in their wake, hasty in their movements to knot themselves within his dark hair. A deep rumble vibrated through the both of them; he could feel it in his mouth, his throat and chest, and he wasn't sure whose it was, but he tried to pull Lex closer, impossibly closer, into his body,- 

_…all I want…_

-pushing his mouth and tongue harder to him. He let his hands slide down the tee-shirt to Lex's waist as he rampaged through Lex's mouth, and felt the older boy struggling to get closer as well, hindered by the sheets and blankets that covered him. Clark helped, tugging Lex to him, wrapping his arms as tightly around the other boy as he felt was safe. Instantly there was another moan, and he pulled back, worried that in the intensity of the moment his grip had become too tight. 

As he moved back, Lex murmured in disapproval and tried to pull Clark to him. Clark was more than willing to go, brain and body already responding to what he realized was a croon of desire instead of a moan of discomfort. Right before their lips touched, mere centimeters away from that wet heat that was making him lustfully tipsy, hands pushed at his chest to gain distance. Lex looked into Clark's eyes, his own intoxicated as well, out of focus, the eyelids languid in desire and possibly fatigue. "Clark?" 

Clark, unwillingly locked into those prevalently secretive eyes, struggled with his lungs. The Pandora's Box in front of him had finally been opened, it's esoteric secrets revealed solely to him, the single person in the world that Lex could trust- 

_…I know he trusts me; it's there…_

-and he was barely able to breathe out his response. "Yes?" 

"I owed you my life before," he whispered heavily, his words slurred drunkenly, his strength draining. "-but now I owe you my humanity as well." He nipped affectionately at Clark's lips. "My soul is yours, Kent." 

He couldn't breathe. He forgot how, or maybe his body just stopped working, but he couldn't breathe. 

As Lex moved to Clark's lips again, taking over and kissing with the small amount of vigor he had left in his purely fatigued body, Clark couldn't help but be seized. Lex's need was evident even though he was exhausted and desirous of sleep. Clark's lungs suddenly jump started, and he breathed in through his nose, rationalizing that he hadn't been able to respire before the kiss because Lex was now his energy, his battery. 

_///my soul is yours, kent///_

_…his soul is mine? how can I take his when I'm not sure I have one of my own? I'm not the same as him…_

Lex pulled away, obviously tiring, and kissed Clark's cheek, his neck, then rested against his shoulder, slumping into him. His left hand was still determined to stay in Clark's hair, but his right fell weakly to the plush comforter. 

Clark felt Lex breathe in deep against his body and ran his hands up and down the other boy's back, this time massaging softly, following the spine with his fingers and feeling the incredible tension beneath the shirt and skin. 

_…so right…_

It felt fitting to be here with Lex, to have him in his arms, and to want to be held. 

_…and so wrong…_

He couldn't stay. Staying would end up being a mistake, if only because it seemed he was already in too deep. He didn't want to drown, and he feared that he was close to doing just that. If he drowned in what Lex was, then he would eventually be foolish enough to tell him everything and that could not be chanced. 

He carefully placed Lex back on the pillows, covered him with his blankets, and stood up noticing the IV had been pulled out. He'd tell Marcy, go home, then get straight to work on the farm. There was no way his father was still waiting up; it had been too long. He knew he had no reason to really worry when it came to Clark, and though he still did, Jonathan could have guessed his son's reasons for staying. 

_…well, not all of them…_

Clark had so many chores in the morning that he could just start in on them as soon as he got home and do things at a much faster pace in the dark. At least by doing it that way he could sleep during the day and avoid the questioning and disapproving glances for a few hours. 

He stared at the imposing wooden door, knowing that he didn't want to be on the other side. He just wanted to be here, with Lex. He just wanted what couldn't happen. He knew he wouldn't be able to take the rejection or, worse, the possible sudden 'scientific interest' that Lex might take in him, quickly replacing and overriding the bond that he so cherished. He knew that they didn't have to be lovers to have that bond: it was there every time they were together, and it wasn't always- or even the majority of the time- sexual. That was just one aspect of it. 

_…not a bad aspect of it…_

He looked back at Lex and thought of the kiss, not blushing at the emotions it had stirred or the body part that had been awakened. He would never forget what had transpired, but he prayed that Lex wouldn't remember a thing.   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	8. This Kiss

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Eight - This Kiss   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Lex thinks about the events of the previous night.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: As always, I LOVE the reviews and emails! Thanks :)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Lyle Brown who was a real pain in the ass about this chapter, but hey, what are beta readers for [except he's just an all around PITA] ;) 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 8: This Kiss**

_///clark///_

Lex Luther stirred a little, cozy if a bit warm under the comforters of his bed. He found it odd that he felt sunshine on his face; he hadn't waken up to the sun in ages, usually preferring to be up and busy at work, not even noticing as the scorching inamorata of the galaxy stirred herself into daily animation. 

It was a chore to open his slumber-heavy eyes, but one he eventually accomplished, finally glancing out his bedroom wall-of-glass. For once he had slept in- 

_…shit, that's not good…_

-late enough to wake up to the taintless mid-morning outside: cerulean sky with no hint of it's usual blemishes, their white and fluffy bodies almost always concealing portions of the elegant dance floor of the heavens; lush green trees, branches swaying lightly in the breeze; cobalt water shimmering like reflected metal in a hot day's sun. The gardens below- of which, at his angle, he was unfortunately blind to- would no doubt be just as picturesque, with hundreds of colors blending and yet maintaining their perfectly balanced individual beauty. 

He closed his eyes again. He was tired, ridiculously so, and he played with the idea of staying in bed, slipping back into the void of nothing. It was Sunday, damn it, and he was tired. 

_…forget the luther code of conduct…_

He was going to go back to sleep. Feeling like an accomplished child who had just convinced a parent he was sick and in need of a one-day sabbatical from school, he adjusted his head- barely even detecting the stiffness and the low, penetrating throb that had settled within the muscles- and realized that the comforters were tucked around him. They were supposed to be in his closet this time of year and he didn't remember fetching them; he did, however, remember being cold. 

Lex frowned briefly but let the expression dissipate from his face as he started to fall back into the abyss, sleep slipping its tendrils of black dust loosely around his consciousness. 

_…I was freezi-…_

_///clark///_

His eyes shot open. 

_…clark?…_

The trance-inducing tendrils retracted instantaneously, leaving him much aware, but very confused. With the image and that word, that _name_, he had been roused from sleep and thrown harshly into the land of the vigilant. But why? 

_---arms holding me tightly---_

"Oh-" 

_---hands caressing---_

"-no." 

_---lips against mine---_

The memory of last night was abrupt, thrown straight into his cache of recollections as if it weren't truly his own memory, but something shocking viewed accidentally from a TV screen. Of course, never did a television presentation flood him with emotions confessing aloud to his every movement, his every sensation, causing the rhythm and tempo of the dance in his reminiscence to suddenly come alive within his sensorial anamnesis. The steps of the tango that he had most recently learned- and the most potent to his mind and body- were comfort and the sweet ability to just let go. 

_…there _was_ beauty in release…_

Clark had taught him that lesson with just a simple and strong, available shoulder to cry on, proving that he was someone to count on. Then he had revealed an entirely different side of himself. 

_…the kiss…_

So trusting in the young Luther was he, that Clark hadn't even thought twice about that particular disclosure, that attestation to what he wanted. Lex wasn't used to that kind of trust. 

_…was it a- a dream?…_

Lex licked his lips tentatively, remembering how relentless the farmboy's kiss had been, how much surprising passion flowed between the two as they had tried desperately to find something that could bring them closer and ease the suffering. As he trailed around the lines of his mouth, he found the taste still lingering sweetly, currently gracing his now hallowed tongue. 

_…I can still taste him; there's no way that this was a dream…_

So was it real? If it wasn't a dream, if Clark had actually kissed him- 

_…no, _I_ started it; it was _me_ who kissed _him_…_

Could he have really instigated a kiss, and not just any kiss but one with _Clark_? Yeah, sure, he'd been thinking a lot about him lately, but- 

_…the dream; the dream in the field…_

Clark had been there, oh god, had he been there. He had stood with Lex when no one else could have, he had offered his hand when no one else _would_ have. He had saved Lex and no matter what he said- 

_…he was wrong, I'm not the strong one, _he's_ the strong one…_

-he was the reason that Lex had not fallen into the numbness, into 'what could have been'. Into what would have brought Lex to a fateful end, his father's end, the only Luther end that had ever existed. 

Until now. 

_…calm down, it was just a dream, it doesn't necessarily mean anything…_

He breathed in deeply, the inhalation belying his thoughts, and felt a pain between his shoulder blades and ribs. The memory of his strenuous "exercise" the night before, followed presently behind the pain, as if it hadn't wanted to be late. 

_…late for a very important date…_

He smirked to himself at the absurdity of the mind. He'd always hated that damned rabbit. 

_…clark; me there; but what was I doing in the field? why was I so lost, so-…_

"Helpless," he whispered, thinking of the lack of feeling, the lack of real choice he would have been resorted to had it not been for Clark's presence. 

_///fallen to his knees, forehead on a casket, tears falling in rivulets, falling to the cold marble floor and wasted there, the chilled, inanimate ground unfeeling to his devastation///_

"Mom," he said out loud, the image before his eyes gone, the lids now closing in regret. He could have gone forever and a day without remembering that little portion of his nightmare. 

_…no, just a dream…_

What a dream it had been. So real, so cold, so... Freeing. 

_…a dream where I found the one person who could save me, who could just love me for me; but what kind of love?…_

_---passionate kiss; he's pulling me so hard to him, so hard, and it's not hard enough, I want to be closer, just want to be closer---_

He flushed at the memory that had invaded his thoughts, flushed at his body's reactions to it, every limb going white hot, a sinfully pleasurable sensation. 

_…good god; that's never happened before…_

_---blue eyes looking so deep and pained, but needy too; could he need me?---_

_…how can a dream be so real?…_

The memories of his mother and Clark in the field. Those were obviously dreams. But Clark in his bedroom? Looking like a guardian angel under the starlight? Holding him close, tight, relishing in him, kissing him. He'd never had the luxury of being kissed like that; it left Lex feeling like he must return the passion but being too tired... 

That couldn't have been a dream. 

Last night Clark displayed the kind of soulful attraction that now had Lex deeply confused. Just before, within his dreams, it had come upon him that he could find love within the boy, something that could save him from his own personal condemnation, someone that could force him to live and love. But his actions last night... They were confounding him. Had his dream shown him the way to _that_ kind of love? A "lover" instead of a "loved one"? 

Suddenly his dream, and his own actions whenever he was accompanied by Clark, took on more depth, wider proportions, and less confusing undertones. Whenever around Kent, he was always singularly focused: Clark was his fun, the climax of his day, his one true and honest friend- that wanted nothing but true and honest friendship in return. Clark was the point, the aim, Lex's object of significance when the two were together, and he'd never tried to examine these thoughts. He had just accepted them as the ordinance of their friendship. 

But last night... In and out of the dream, he had been held so wonderfully close, needing physical comfort and contact more than anything else at the moment and actually- finally, after waiting fourteen years- receiving it. And this time, it was from the _right person_. 

Then, when his eyes had dried and when his sobs had calmed, Clark had been so tender, so caring, wiping away his pain, allowing Lex to keep the contact that kept him serene. Lex had wanted nothing but to thank him, nothing but to stay there until Clark had taken away all of the pain, the confusion, the loss that he had hidden so deep for so long. And he knew that Clark could. It was just within his powers, within his aura. 

Lex had felt the tenderness shift to something else... Something intensely understanding and profound; something that, when Lex pulled back to meet his eyes, the contact made Clark transfer his gaze elsewhere, watching what he did instead of looking at Lex. He had deliberately grazed Lex's face with his fingertip, sorrow all too painfully obvious riding shotgun along side the sympathy, but there had been something else exposed on that guilelessly expressive face. There had been need. And lust. 

He had desired to see it, see if it would dissolve when Clark was looking at him. So he had whispered the boy's name, more manifest emotions pouring out of that single syllable than he had freed in years, but it wasn't time to care. It never would be because it had been Clark to whom those emotions had been obvious. 

Clark had looked up and, if anything, the truth was glaringly visible like a neon sign in the night, or the impossibility of light shining amidst a black hole. In those blue eyes, pulled straight from his dream, nothing was hidden; it was still _his _color, still the same place, offering security, his own little sanctuary. But now the emotions there were stronger, and the newest- desire- was the most palpable. 

_---He wants me. I'm so confused, but I need love, I need something comforting right now and he wants me, I see it in his eyes. No one has ever looked at me like that. Ever. I need him, I need him _so much_ right now. What if I just- what if I just kiss him?---_

He had used Clark. Or, at least, he had _inadvertently tried_ to use Clark. After just that one kiss, however, _just that simple caress of lips_, things became so much more distinct, more apparent. Instantly, he knew: this was the reason he thought about Clark all the time, the reason that images of him popped up in his head non-stop at rambling luncheons and drab board meetings. He was attracted to Clark Kent. 

And the feeling was mutual. 

_…more than mutual…_

He sighed, remembering his next attempt at a kiss, this time trying to get Clark to respond. At first he just wanted to know if Clark wanted this too, like his eyes said they did, like Lex's body and mind found that _he_ did. The heat in his stomach had grown into a raging bonfire, driving him a little nuts, and he grabbed the boy's jacket, pressing himself up against Clark's chest, feeling Clark's heart pounding hard- 

_…**so hard**…_

-against the inside of his chest. Lex could feel his own speed up, but was fascinated, fixed on Clark's. 

_---I need to feel him, need to taste him. Oh, what am I doing?---_

He hadn't meant to go so far, had only meant to see what Clark wanted, but he felt that heartbeat, that furious heartbeat, and his own had desperately wanted to catch up, had needed to match the pace. He had wanted to taste Clark... so he did. He had run his tongue over Clark's bottom lip without even thinking about it, without trying to decipher anything first. 

_---"Lex."_   
_My stomach tightens and I shiver at his now very deep voice saying my name. There is such strained passion in it, such pure and raw emotion. No one has been willing to share everything with me, no one has ever been willing to give to me what they are, but he does it in a single word. _My name_. He does it with _my name_.---_

He had run his tongue over both of Clark's lips the second time, longing for the consequence that Clark's admonition begged him to heed, and he wasn't disappointed. Clark had yanked him closer and had taken over completely, kissing him and kissing him seemingly with no end, and he cried out into that mouth, cried out in wonder and indulged delight; but then Clark was- 

_---no---_

-pulling away and- 

_---I don't want him to stop---_

-Lex had brought him back, pleading with a willing Kent to continue, but then he stopped having something to say first. 

_---I have to tell him about the dream. I have to tell him what he means to me---_

And Lex had. He had- clearly and concisely, he thought- clarified his sentiments and the situation, elucidated just what Clark was to him. The last thing he remembered after that was kissing Clark. He was kissing Clark, on the lips, the face, the neck, then he was waking up to the sun shining and a temporary memory loss, not to mention the new feelings stirring in his gut: a little bit of anxiety, a hot tension, and cool relief, though what for he wasn't certain. 

More sharp and repetitive than all of the aforementioned was the impatience; he couldn't wait to see Clark again, couldn't wait to sort things out, to calm it down and to go from there. 

He smiled at his reasoning. He couldn't wait for them to take their time. 

_…if that even makes sense…_

Lex had started something with Clark that had yet to be made official but would never be rescinded. It was close and arranged for the perfect heist. Him and Clark. It could be perfect, and he intended to savor every moment of whatever his friend was willing to concede. He could not, _would not_, hold out on anything when it came to Clark, he swore this to himself. From what he had seen and felt the other night, he figured that would be a sacred decree.   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	9. Somewhere in Between

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Nine - Somewhere in Between   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Clark thinks about the events of the previous night and a few other things.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: Please, don't stop!! My true motivation comes from Lex, Clark and everyone who keeps coming back for more of this stuff.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Lyle Brown, of course :) You asked for it! 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 9: Somewhere in Between**

Clark shifted in his bed, plagued by the barn's ample sunlight- even with the hayloft door closed- and tried to get into a comfortable and relatively _dark and shady_ position. Something he couldn't identify- 

_…that's because there's nothing there…_

-was digging into his shoulders- 

_…it's just your imagination; it's giving you another excuse as to why you're awake…_

-and the cracks and gaps in the barn's wooden planks shot beams of the unbidden light all around, revealing billows of eddying dust, otherwise naked to even the most scrutinous eye. 

_…not that you'd face the real reasons…_

And now the sounds of his father working loudly outside were becoming more imminent, more obtrusive and boisterous in their ever-increasing proximity. He was growing more weary and therefore more iritable, more petulant to even the slightest noise, searching for anything, anything at all that he could squarely place the blame upon for his personal cacophony, and in the barn it wasn't a difficult task. He craved the dark and reposed sanctity of his room but he didn't dare head over to the house. He still had no idea of what exactly his father had told his mother, and had no desire to find out anytime soon. 

There was really nothing to what had happened last night as far as they were concerned, just him aiding a friend. He knew that's how his mother would see it, but... it didn't make last night any easier for him take. 

_…why does it have to be so hard?…_

The fact that his mother was more understanding and sympathetic towards Lex, knowing he was not a carbon-copy of his father; it didn't help him sort through his feelings for the industrialist's scion. Lately, most of the predicaments that he was tossed into seemed to be beyond his parents grasp of cognition, but at least his abilities were something he could share with them. His friendship- his _relationship_ with Lex... He didn't think that even his mother would be open-minded enough to swallow that. 

His folks had always told him that no matter what, he could come to them with any dilemma and, despite all of his puerile objections, he had once felt the stable certainty of their words and actions, something solid within their eyes that he could hold onto forever. But now, with Lex... For once he found the circumstances, the issues, to be ones that he irrefutably _could not_ discuss with his parents. They had no idea any such problems even existed and maybe it was better that way. It would no doubt be awkward enough at dinner- 

_…shouldn't have skipped lunch…_

-with his father's blatant distaste for Lex and because Clark could never seem to hide his demeanor from Jonathan and Martha. They wouldn't know what the impasse was in regard to, but would conclude it was better _not _to pry, leaving the permisable conversation to forced and superficial small-talk levels. 

He feared the moment when he realized that he'd rather be _alone _than in a place with people who loved him. Feared the moment when it actually hit home- 

_…again…_

-that there were people in his life who loved him- 

_…first the inability to help me discover my origins…_

-but who could not help him- 

_…now I can't even ask advice about my relationship with Lex…_

-no matter how much deeply they desired the opposite, the antipodal of the truth. 

So why subject himself to that sooner than he had to? If he were to head to the house now, Martha might feel free to ask him questions that she otherwise wouldn't. They would be simple questions like _"what happened with Lex"_ and _"did you find out why he was running?"_ or, the worst yet, _"what happened that had you there for so long?"_ Simple questions? Yes. Simple answers? Hardly. Her mother-like questions would leave him suspiciously flushed and faltering for words. The answers to the questions were already more the cause of his insomnia than the constant distractions: sounds, lights, and whatever the hell- 

_…nothing…_

-was digging into his back. 

Shifting again on his cot, the mattress feeling more like bedrock than foam and coils, he speculated that, for now at least, he had no responses for the inquisition running through his tired and over-worked mind. He just wanted to go to sleep. Unfortunately the only place he could see that commencing in would be his soft and yielding bed, in his dark room, with the door closed and the blinds shut. But just being in the house... 

_…argh…_

He had to keep Lex and everything that happened the previous night a secret. It _wasn't _going to be easy and was destined to advance the already expanding distance between him and his folks, specifically Jonathan. 

_…like this morning, only worse…_

Clark had finished all of his own chores and a few of his father's in the small amount of time before his father awoke and came out. When Jonathan Kent did make it out, Clark had seen a look in the man's eyes that he had never received before: he was hiding his something from his son. 

_…secrets all over the place…_

His real emotions were poorly kept at bay, as Clark could see that the man was angry and disappointed. The anger didn't really seem to be directed at him- 

_…didn't _seem to be_, but that doesn't mean he wasn't…_

-which was good, but the disappointment… He couldn't tell. Clark found that what hurt him the most was his father's covertness. He had never before seen those eyes so guarded, his expressions so controlled. He'd had no clue at how well the man could perform until now, hiding the meaning if not the actual feelings and he just wished that he could explain everything away. Tell his father all and just have the man hug him, saying that he'd love Clark no matter what, that nothing was going to impair their family, and that each problem wasn't that big and could be easily solved. He wanted his father to drop the shields and tell Clark the truth. What was Jonathan so disappointed about? In his son and Lex, their friendship? What would he think about what happened last night? 

Clark doubted Jonathan could ever understand what had propelled through him, shaken him raw as Lex leaned into him, his head resting on his shoulder. As he felt every breath going and coming, in and out against his chest, there was an almost overbearing sense of rational perfection, a peace not to mention privilege. It had intimidated Clark a little, and he knew that this intimacy was merely skimming the top of what was out there. Last night had been transcendence though, in it's purest form and he ached with how he wanted it all to loiter and persist. 

_…how could I ever let dad see? how could I ever show him?…_

Clark sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to, that Jonathan might never see more of Lex than he saw of Lionel. 

Just what he needed now: another layer, another encumbrance, to go atop his already full freight. 

_…lex isn't an encumbrance…_

Of course not, but the situation he was in _with Lex _was. He'd always been fairly careless with his heart, giving his trust and fondness to people he barely knew. In the weeks that he had gotten to know Lex he had found the boy to be more kind, generous and self-conscious than anyone had the right to see. Lex had little quirks, little impossibly endearing factors and Clark had found, without having to admit it to himself, that he came to love Lex early on, in the same manner he loved his parents or Chloe or Pete. Simple. Loyal. True. 

But he'd also known how easily he could fall for the older boy. 

The way Lex cared about him, the way he treated him... It was as if everything was something- or everyone was someone- that Lex could own or lease or just use... until he looked at Clark. Not that he _would_ use everything at his disposal. Lex wasn't that type of person, despite what Clark's dad, despite what _everyone's _dad said. 

No, he wouldn't use everything he could. He just looked at all the entities in his world with a kind of blase certainty; he knew what was available to him and it no longer- 

_…if it ever did…_

-surprised him. Everyone was just an accommodation or an instrument ready to be used in Lex's contrivance; something to be seen and possibly utilized. 

It all seemed different when Clark saw Lex's gaze wash over him. There was genuine affection and warmth there, a light, a glint, as if all was suddenly unique in the glabrous young man's world. Clark brought something new to the mix, and that novelty had yet to wear off. 

_…maybe it won't…_

"Right." Clark wasn't stupid. He understood that Lex saw him as a blessing of sorts. Racing underwater to rip open the roof, he had saved Lex from death and instilled the twenty-three year old into his life. That would be enough to feel indebted to someone eternally. At least until "eternity" ran out and you saw that what the person had done was just a natural instinct, not necessarily something _everyone_ would do, but something that enough people would have tried. 

So Clark was new and fun and interesting. For awhile. 

_…no, there's more to it than that; there's something there, right?…_

He wasn't just being insipid and imagining things far out of whack. Wasn't it there, in the older man's eyes? That glint: it didn't look like a spark but instead like a _fire_, all the rage and burning brightly. 

_…it's not just in his eyes; the kiss; the kiss that _he_ wanted…_

There was something deep within the older boy, something that felt the same way about Clark that Clark did about Lex. 

_…you can't deny it just because you don't want to complicate things; he's genuine when he's with you; you're not just a temporary innovation to him and you know it…_

Clark sprung up and out of the bed to begin pacing in his pajamas, frustrated at himself and his lackluster thoughts. Did he have to go over everything _seven-teen-million-times_? Why couldn't he just say: "Yes, I'm from another planet somewhere far away in outer-space. I'm an alien and yes, I've got the hots for a man that wouldn't understand me- who would?- and whom my father can't stand. Oh, and by the way- speaking of my father- I think he's beginning to grow irritated with me, and I can't talk to him about why." 

He suddenly wished he could go back to his days before Lex's driving almost got him killed, to the days before he'd been- 

_…hit…_

-thrown off of the bridge and into the water. If only Lex hadn't been going- what was it, sixty-miles and hour?- so fast in Smallville. If only his damn phone hadn't rung. Then Clark could be the brooding, confused and horny seventeen-year old that constantly and innocuously watched Lana Lang sitting on her front porch and desperately wondered why he could run faster than the speed of sound, but couldn't write an English paper deserving a grade higher than a mid B. 

Now he had things to _contemplate_, more serious things to worry about than foolish teenage crap, but even that seemed to work it's way in. Now he was falling for the man that had almost killed him, not that he'd ever admit to Lex that he actually _did_ ram into him that day. 

_…lex…_

If there was one thing, one _single thing_, that he could be happy about that all of this confusion had wrought, it was the fact that he had helped people. He had saved a few lives, and he would never wish that it hadn't started with Lex's. 

_…lex…_

He plopped back onto his bed, stretching his arms over his head, and let out a deep rumble of frustration at his thoughts and his one-track mind. The damned thing kept leading back to one place. 

_…lex…_

The quandary that had been keeping his mind occupied throughout the whole morning- at least after the sun had come up- and the afternoon was: Is Lex awake now and does he remember. He'd been very out of it, but even so... Were the events likely to be something that Lex could forget? 

Did Clark really want him to forget? Despite his persistent thoughts to the contrary, he wasn't sure. Clark felt the rush of emotions that could answer that question, the rush of hormones, cascading around inside his exhausted body, of which he felt warm over. He pushed the memories of the previous events out of his mind before the images came. 

Still, he wondered what it would be like to be human. To be human and to have met Lex under different circumstances, circumstances wherein the magic would still lie, the fire would still rage, and Lex... Lex would still kiss him like he did last night. 

"Stop thinking about it, idiot," he whispered, realizing how very close to the edge he was, how very easy it would be for him to take that plunge for Lex, and how hard it would be to say no if Lex ever asked him to be- to be... something more than friends. Would he be able to say no? To resist the charm and affections of the young man? The - 

_…vulnerability…_

-oblation of trust, something the Luthers gave out rarely, or, according to Clark's father, never. 

The possibility of just how right they would be- together. 

Clark wanted Lex to not remember anything so that they could still remain friends, still have their bond that brought them closer then most people, with both mental appreciation and physical gestures. 

_…what just a single touch can do…_

He feared that if Lex remembered the pure and naked defenselessness he had been exposed to the other night he'd shy away from Clark; if he remembered the kisses, the embrace... Would he want more? 

Clark was scared of the answer to that question, didn't ever want to hear it coming from the older man because if that happened he figured he'd just give up. He'd fall to his knees before Lex and ask the older boy to hold him, to not try and understand him... to ask nothing more from Clark that what he could possibly give. He'd beg Lex to love him no matter, and that's what he was afraid of. This love that could be so right it could end up killing him. If he were to ever feel comfortable enough to tell Lex what he was... 

Somehow he just felt more afraid to tell him than anyone. There was something in Lex that scared him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. 

_…maybe it's the fact that he was willing to be his most vulnerable with you last night, but you're not willing to do the same…_

Maybe so, but that didn't click. It could just be the intensity of connection, but he doubted that too. 

He felt his mind starting to fog over and he closed his eyes, welcoming the rest. He couldn't do anything until he knew what Lex remembered, what Lex wanted to do. He wasn't going to think about how willing and weak-kneed he'd been after the kiss, wasn't going to worry about what would happen if Lex wanted more from him than what they already had. He wasn't going to cogitate on what scared him about Lex. He was just going to go to sleep and hope that when he woke up, something, just _one thing_ in his life, would be less complicated. 

Maybe he'd sleep through dinnertime.   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	10. Must Be Crazy For Me

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: - Must Be Crazy For Me   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Three days after the run, Lex is back to work.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: You guys are great and your reviews _really_ brighten my days! THANKS!!   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 10: Must Be Crazy For Me**

"I don't see how this constitutes as a problem, Peter." Lex interrupted, paying closer attention to the pen in his nimble fingers than to the man before him. He shifted in his seat, tired of watching the blond minion sputtering out the latest ho-hum from Lionel. 

With his frosted hair- 

_…completely undeserving of those locks…_

-ostentatious suits, glittery watch and overly shiny manicured talons, Peter Clayton was really beginning to get on his nerves. He had been working for Lex's father for the last two months now, as a middle man for the two Luthers, and had the cool calm strictly reserved for those who thought they had it made merely because Lionel Luther "trusted" them. Only Clayton also held a level of apathetic superiority that Lex was positive had to do with the fact that Lex's father let the man deal with his son. Lex couldn't wait to dispel him of the illusion that he was important to Lionel, that he was above the mass. He figured it may take time, but he'd eventually get it done. 

_…and the feeling of absolute exhilaration when I do…_

"It's simple. Lionel merely-" 

"My father," he interrupted again, this time his tone exhibiting his utter distaste and boredom. "-has made his opinions on the subject very clear. And after this tedious little session-" he gave the Ken doll in Armani a pointed look. "-I have decided to stick even more wholeheartedly with my previous strategy for the project at hand. If he wishes to try and convince me otherwise, he can always soar via Luther Air and be here in less than an hour." 

"He was assuming he wouldn't have to resort to that." 

Lex smirked. "Of course he was. He should know, however, that I don't allow myself to be persuaded by his second-hand cronies." 

"Like father, like son, then?" 

Lex's smirk faltered, instantly recovering but still allowing the man sitting opposite him a flash of victory. "I'm a Luther, aren't I? The necessary steps should have been more than obvious." 

Peter uncrossed his arms, smoothly leaning forward in his chair and looking directly at Lex. Before he could get a word out, a loud knock at the door broke his concentration, the bold noise startling him and causing him to snap back in his seat. Lex's discerning eyes narrowed in suspicion at the man's unwitting actions- first the skittish jump and his avoidance of Lex's stare- which belied the calm exterior he was now unmistakably trying so hard to evince, showing the parcel of wiry nerves beneath. 

_…what's he hiding?…_

"Come in," Lex called, not glancing away from the man opposite him, now leaning back in the overstuffed chair and staring uninterested at the floor. 

His butler, Samuel, opened the door. "Master Luther. There is a Clark Kent here to see you." 

His eyes shot to where Sam was standing and his heart lurched in it's chest, calling attention to itself. He swallowed. 

_…calm down…_

Keeping his voice and body language nonchalant, he continued. "Yes?" 

"Yes sir. He wanted to see you." Sam pointed unnecessarily at his own feet in hopes that Lex would gather Clark was here to check up on his health. Lex almost smiled at the old man. Samuel Loomis wasn't the quickest of characters, but he was still a good and loyal man. Lex nodded to him. 

"About the other night," he continued. 

Lex nodded again, worried that the Sam might say something to pique Clayton's very much unwanted interest. "Right. Thank you, Loomis. Just show him in, would you?" 

Once Sam had departed, Clayton looked back up. "Were we finished here?" 

Lex sighed rudely, acting the disinterested spoiled successor, but truthfully he was anticipating another implication of what Peter was in the midst of divulging. 

_…or _pretending_ to divulge…_

"I was," Lex started, tossing his pen into the air and catching it. "-but I suppose you have something more to say." 

"I do." 

"Joy to the world." He continued to play with his pen. "And what might that be, Clayton?" He didn't miss the minuscule cringe caused by his informal use of the other man's last name. 

Peter took a deep breath and leaned to the edge of his seat again. 

_…any more and he'll fall off…_

"Maybe your father underestimates you, Mister Luther." 

Lex, whose most recent toss had the gold writing utensil glinting in mid-air, stared at the minion in front of him and let the pen fall to the carpeted floor as if he were shocked at Clayton's words. The small thunk of the pen was the only sound in the room, and he watched in amusement as the emotions, inadequately concealed, streamed across Peter's face and through his eyes. 

_…he wants to know if I'll take the bait…_

He knew where Peter was headed. The unspoken offer to work both sides, the inferred proposal to work as an infiltrator for Lex, now permeated the air thickly, but only if you were astute to only the words. Looking into Peter's eyes made the endeavor even more obvious as Lex could see the same dullness, the same paragon reproduction he saw in each of his father's sycophants. Peter was merely following Herr Luther's demands. 

But what, _exactly_, were his demands? Why carry through on such a faulty and overdone formula? His father had always detested the cliched. 

_…oh, daddy dearest, what are we up to now?…_

The silence was dense and no doubt thrumming against Peter's ear drums. Could Lex Luther be lured? 

Whether or not he would play the game would be left up to Peter Clayton and his willingness to pursue this deviating track. Right now, Lex heard Clark coming down the hall, his farmer's boots muffling the heavy steps on the marble floor, and his current priority was not even minutely questioned. 

"Well, that's it then. Until next time, Peter, I bid you farewell." 

It was clear that Clayton had not anticipated being tossed aside like this; not after such a revelation, after such a colossal turn of events- at least in his mind- had passed. Apparently, in his mind, Lex should have canceled the meeting with Kent, and spent more time trying to pry into Peter's psyche to interpret his words, desperate to find out just what he meant. 

Lex smiled realizing it might not take that long to show Clayton just what he meant to the Luthers in general. He was merely a toy, being thrown around to annoy both father and son- mostly son- and once Lionel got wind that Lex had broken this version, he'd upgrade. 

The knock on his office door caused him to shift in his seat. It was becoming more difficult to mask his anticipation at seeing the face beyond the door. 

"Come in." 

He heard the knob start to turn and he glanced with annoyance and impatience at Clayton who finally got the point. He stood clumsily, as if he didn't quite know what to do or think. 

The door opened all the way and Lex caught sight of the tall, dark-haired creature as he entered. Watching the boy with hungry eyes, he found Clark was surprised to discover a business associate in the office with Lex, and leaned awkwardly against the doorjamb, hands shoved deep within his pockets. The long sleeved blue shirt he was wearing hugged humbly at the contours of his strong and healthy body. Lex met his eyes, smiling and Clark returned Lex's smile with his own, a shy and reserved one compared to the dazzlers he was capable of. He looked away quickly, noticeably reddening and Lex's stomach abruptly forgot the laws of gravity as it tried to float up into his throat. It was obvious that Saturday night was on both of their minds. 

"We'll continue this later then?" 

Lex waved, dismissing Clayton, who had been walking backwards. The only reason Lex met the man's gaze with his own was that Peter happened to be obstructing his view- 

_…lovely view…_

-of Clark. "Oh, happiness abounds," he sneered sarcastically. 

Peter turned around to leave and noticed Clark, stationary in his pose. He turned back to Lex and his frown openly contested Kent's presence, practically dripping with contempt as his expression seemed to ask 'this farmer's kid is more important than business?'. 

Lex said nothing but raised an eyebrow, daring Clayton to defy him. The man turned and stalked out the door, his feet hitting the polished stone floor harder than they had when incoming. 

Lex looked back to Clark. The mere sight of the young man was softening his heart. "Sorry about that." 

The boy pushed himself of the jamb and shrugged. "That's alright." 

Lex nodded. "Could you close the door?" 

As Clark turned to perform the task, Lex gripped the desk and tried to haul himself out of his seat. His whole back screamed at him sending jolts down his spine, and below the torso every muscle was preoccupied with burning in agony, but he would be damned if he was just going to sit while Clark was in his presence. He wanted too much to be closer and wouldn't mind the aches if that nearness were at all possible. He just didn't want the boy to see him trying to get up. 

He pushed himself harder, using his arms more than his less stable and currently trembling legs. He heard the door close- 

_…didn't think it would take this long to get up…_

-as he gritted his teeth against the pain, eyes shut. The next thing he knew Clark was by his side helping him up. 

_…oh, well; certainly not a __bad_ consolation prize… 

"I don't really-" 

"Need my help?" came the worried tone, causing Lex to look up into Clark's eyes. Their faces came close, noses brushing, and Lex felt warmth within his stomach. 

_…so close; I could just lean forward and kis-…_

Clark pulled back a foot, but didn't let go, leading Lex to the couch near the barren fireplace. He gently pushed him down onto the plush cushions and sat down in front of him on the coffee table. He looked expectantly at Lex, eyebrows raised endearingly. 

_…he looks so- worried…_

"It's not that bad really." He tried to swallow, but wasn't incredibly successful. "They're a little stiff," he continued. "But once I've been walking awhile, they'll loosen up." 

Clark didn't move for a moment, just looking at Lex, then he dropped his gaze. He took Lex's left leg in his hands, his tenderness forcing Lex to regulate his breath before it became too shallow, and pulled it straight out slowly, not wanting to hurt his friend. Lex winced at the strain on his upper thigh and calf, but motioned for Clark to keep it up. He breathed with the stretch as Clark pushed his leg back to him, bending it at the knee. 

Clark smiled, looking down at Lex's footwear. "Expensive shirt, nice khakis, and these," he said tugging gently on the lavish slippers. The gauze underneath for the blisters was visible. 

Lex sighed. "They're orthopedic." 

"They're blue." 

"Not colorblind, I see." 

"And fuzzy." 

Lex laughed, not at all surprised to find fondness beginning to well up inside. 

Clark continued with the next stretch. "Man about the town." 

"They're for walking around the _house_, Clark." 

He graced Lex with a comforting smile, but it seemed a little... off. 

_…he seems a little nervous; maybe he's got no real clue what to say…_

"Man about the manor, then." 

"Hardly." Lex glared and nodded at the desk. "You've seen the extent of my recovery." 

"But Marcy's still letting you walk?" 

Lex was momentarily surprised at the mention of his nurse, but it only made sense that Clark would have met the little woman. It also seemed oddly fitting, comforting in a manner with which Lex was entirely unaccustomed to, but the significance of the boy meeting his caretaker- once upon a time his nanny- of whom he cared for immensely- 

_…you would certainly do greatly by expressing that partiality to her; she's more than earned it…_

-was not lost on the young Luther. "Yes. Well, actually she's _making_ me. I was in bed the first day... after. Then she came in the next morning and said it was enough rest." 

Clark smirked at him, still managing to look the ever-innocent farmboy. "Hard to imagine someone having control over Lex Luther." 

_…__you've_ got more than marcy shelton, god and my father put together… 

Lex pushed his thought away and smiled. There had been nothing malicious about Clark's mention of his surname, nothing crude or degrading, and he took a moment to revel in that. He couldn't remember the last time, or _any_ time, when someone uttered the Luther name without a hint of disgust. "Yeah, well, she's always been like that. Besides a day in bed was bad enough, you know? Too much silence." 

_…too much time to think and not do…_

The 'not doing' had almost driven him mad. Luther's were always on the move. 

There was a moment of contented reticence as Clark switched legs and Lex just watched the handsome face before him. It sometimes amazed him just how altruistic Kent was, seemingly munificent to the last, and this moment in time was no different. He shook his head imperceptibly at just how absolutely considerate and... well, _doting_ Clark was. It was the exact opposite of his less than indulgent father, the exact opposite of his less than affectionate upbringing. 

The feelings that had been welling up inside his chest now started to balloon and he knew that he was going to have to do _something_ about them and soon. His hand was itching to touch the boy, to stroke the amiable face, so close. He could still feel that silky, raven-colored mane, snarled severely within his slender fingers. He'd been deprived for too long of those lips and the solid, stalwart arms. He wanted them wrapped around him again. 

All of a sudden his ears were filled with the memory of Clark's voice growling his name deeply and wantonly in primal warning. It was as if the sound still resonated through the walls of the huge castle-like house, and he wouldn't have been surprised if it had. 

He bit down hard on his bottom lip and held back his own throaty exuberance as he continued to watch Clark, his yearning intensifying. 

_…whoa; that's not the way to calm things down; getting a hard on before you're even seeing the kid is decidedly _not_ taking it slow…_

He saw Clark frown and felt the atmosphere's abrupt change, somewhat thankful for the chance to cool down. He deposited his cravings to the side, and instinctively knew he wasn't going to like the next topic of conversation. 

Clark cleared his throat. "Not that it's really any of my business, but why were you... running Saturday night?" 

Lex looked to his feeble leg, moving cautiously back and forth in the strong and trusted hands, relaxing as the muscles warmed. Neither boy met the other's eyes. "I had to do some thinking." 

_…or escape it…_

"Lot of thinking," stated Clark simply. 

_…not so much really…_

"Well, it wa-" He stopped, suddenly understanding what Clark was most likely getting at. He picked at a piece of lint- 

_…no lint; not even a wrinkle there…_

-on his khakis. "You want to know why I was running by your house." 

Clark looked up at Lex who still didn't meet his gaze. "That, too, but..." 

"But?" 

Clark shrugged. "I was also worried, you know? That's kind of a long run, and you looked..." he paused and Lex could tell he was searching for an accurate remark, something that would attest to Lex's prior, frail condition. "Tired." 

Lex smiled. Tired indeed. 

_…I must have look like death…_

He sighed, trying to pull his sore leg from Clark's grip. Clark let it go and stood, reaching down to help Lex. He took the proffered hands. 

"I don't know why I was there," he started as he was hefted up. With the coffee table and the couch sandwiching their calves, there was no way for either to move backwards, not that Lex wanted to. He was fine with the proximity, was fine with the random body parts loosely brushing up against other random parts. Was fine with Clark's two inch advantage in height. He had always been one for shorter partners but then again there were a lot of things about Clark that challenged Lex's life paradigm. "It's just where I ended up." 

"Where you ended up?" 

Ended up. He remembered waking up to Clark holding him tightly, removing his tears, offering so much in just the most simple gestures of friendship. The clarity, the detail of every sensation; sight- 

_---clark looking into my eyes with such ardent needs---_

-smell- 

_---clark's scent fills my nose, my mind, like a sweet fog of overwhelming proportions---_

-hearing- 

_---It's okay, Lex. Shhh…"---_

-taste- 

_…oh, god, taste; how did he taste? I couldn't have forgotten…_

-it all flooded into his mind, Saturday night and nothing but was present, a rare occurrence for anyone as debilitated as he had been. He had bared everything to Clark- 

_---"My soul is yours."---_

-and Clark had returned Lex's passion. _More_ than returned it. He had fed off it, desire growing with each second. Lex wanted that again. 

"Yes," he said, bringing his hand up, the backs of his fingers lightly caressing Clark's cheek. Lex watched with mounting desire as the boy's eyes closed. "And I couldn't have ended up in a better place." He lifted his head and closed his own eyes, lips finding their way blindly to press up against Clark's. There was an intake of breath and a sweet instant where Clark pushed back against his mouth, then- 

Then Clark pulled away. 

Lex's eyes shot open. "What? I'm sorry, I-" 

Clark shook his head and moved, stumbling around the coffee table and away from Lex. He frowned. 

_…okay, what's wrong with this picture…_

"Oh, shit," he whispered, feeling as if hot lead had just been poured into his stomach. No. It wasn't all a dream. Not _all_ of it. 

_…it wasn't a dream; not with clark and me in my bedroom; no God can't be that cruel, not even to me…_

Clark was looking down at the floor scratching the back of his head. "Lex-" 

_…it was…_

"-listen-" 

_…it was a dream, and I just kissed the kid, and it was a dream; everything I wanted…_

"-about Saturday night." 

Lex froze. He was about to sink back down onto the couch in despair, but the mention of Saturday held him captive with abated breath. 

"I really... I don't know what happened." 

So, he was nervous. Well, Lex could fix that. He walked the best he could, crossing the distance between him and Clark, not feeling at all embarrassed by his afflicted gate. He couldn't be, not in front of Kent anyway, who, even in his highly flustered state, dropped the bashful pose in exchange for a worried and fretful one as Lex crossed the floor space, ready at the first sign of trouble to catch his friend. 

Lex grinned at him as he approached. "Even I remember what happened, and I was practically unconscious." 

To his dismay, Clark didn't return the grin with his own megawatt version that Lex was so hoping to achieve; a grin that would reinstate their previous repartee-light disposition, a grin that he was hoping would change the entire ambiance of the room, helping the conversation to travel towards a more comfortable composure. Instead the boy looked eminently conflicted, as if an internal antagonism of which he could not pacify raged. "I didn't say I didn't remember. I said I didn't know." 

Lex froze again. His tone became more cautious, words slower. "What do you mean, you don't know, Clark?" An idea sprung to mind. "Is this about the age thing?" 

Clark frowned, effectively shooting down Lex's optimism in one adept and precise strike. "Uh, no. I hadn't even considered that." 

"Neither had I, actually," he realized. "But I'm sure," he continued quickly. "-that seventeen's above the age of consent here." 

"It is. But-" Clark shook his head. "-that's not what this is about." 

"Then what?" He took a step towards Clark, who, in turn, took two back. 

_…this is not good, not good, not good at all…_

"What is this, Clark?" He could hear panic, blunt panic, rising in his voice, but he wasn't going to hide it. He wanted Clark to know how important he was to him and that wasn't going to happen if he pulled the old Luther tricks of concealment out of the bag. He had already given in, had already sworn that he would hold nothing back and that was the hardest part, right? So this should be simple to face. Clark owned him free and clear and the least Lex could do in return for everything the farmboy had given him was to concede his feelings in the most truthful manner possible. His pride was inconsequential and he knew it. 

"Saturday was- It was-" 

_…oh, no; don't you _dare_ say it, clark…_

"It was a mistake, Lex. You were so..." 

"'So' what?" he asked, eyes frantically searching Clark's face. He saw regret there, but whether it was for Saturday's events or for what Kent was doing now, he couldn't tell. "'So' what? What was I?" 

"You were... vulnerable." 

The word shook Lex to the core, and he grabbed at the corner of his desk, his weak legs almost collapsing in on him. Clark stepped forward, but Lex shook his head. Clark didn't move towards Lex anymore, but he didn't move back either. 

_…vulnerable…_

Shit. 

"Are you saying that you…" He paused, becoming more confused at the inextricable situation as he watched pain- 

_…okay; why pain?…_

-cross Clark's features. "Are you saying you took pity on me?" 

Clark swallowed and looked down at his feet. He nodded. 

If there was one thing in the world that Lex Luther knew, it was lies, and he didn't need that knowledge to help him discern that Clark had just laid a big, fat one right on his lap. He had figured that if the wholesome Clark Kent ever lied he would have been horrible at it, but the kid looked as if he hadn't even tried. 

"Pity." Lex stated, receiving another nod. "Bullshit, Clark. There was feeling in those kisses." The word made Clark shift his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and glance longingly at the door. 

Lex realized that Clark could have walked out that door at any single moment, still could. But would he? "There was meaning in our kisses. There was-" He stopped short, sudden insight leaving him speechless. 

_…it was there the whole time and I didn't see it…_

There was more than lust and desire and comfort in time of need. There was love. Maybe not the kind that had people eloping and marrying in Vegas, maybe not the kind that seemed like soulmates- 

_…well, maybe not for him; soulmates does sound right after that dream though…_

-and perfect, blissful eternity- 

_…yet…_

-but it was very obviously- 

_…love…_

"Love." 

Clark looked up at him abruptly, fear in his eyes, fear so poignant that it struck Lex as his own from the dream of the cold field. 

_…and the warm clark…_

He hated the fear being inside himself but felt absolutely shredded at the sight of it in those blue eyes, those blue eyes that he was going to have to fight and fight hard for. "What's wrong?" he asked letting his compassion leak through. 

Clark avoided Lex's question and gaze as he started for the door. "I have to go." 

"No, don't leave, please." Luthers didn't say please- 

_…the word's coming pretty easily now, though…_

-but that fact didn't cause Clark to slow his stride. 

_…it's now or never…_

"I need you." 

He stopped, hand on the knob. 

Lex took a wary step forward. "Please, Clark. I can't do this alone." 

Clark turned, clearly afraid of what he might find in the other man's stare, but brave enough to face it. "Can't do what?" 

Lex shrugged, holding his arms out helplessly. "Take your pick: Be me instead of my father. Change, exist." He took another step closer. "Breathe." 

Clark fumbled with the door, finally opening it. "I'm sorry, Lex. I just... don't feel the same." He walked out and Lex stumbled a few steps behind him until he realized that he couldn't run after Kent. If he tried he'd fall, and Clark would no doubt come back, only to leave just as soon as Lex was properly seated. 

He hobbled back towards his chair, noticing the aches in his legs that had been miraculously absent in Clark's presence. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn't run after Clark because of his dignity, his pride, but he wasn't fooling even the most gullible and wishful part of him. He knew that, had his feet been healthy and sturdy, he would have run as fast as he could, yanking Clark into his arms, holding him up against the wall, and kissing him, kissing him until the boy admitted to his feelings, until he begged Lex to forgive him of his stupidity. 

As Lex sat, he ran his hand over his smooth scalp wondering just what exactly he was going to do to get Clark back. This was just a small problem, nothing that he and Clark couldn't work out. Lex would do anything to assure that. The pain he had seen in Clark's eyes, then the fear. The fact that there had almost been a kiss, a real kiss, one where no one was unconscious or in need of anything... It all led up to something. 

Clark was afraid of something and that something had to do with him, Lex Luther. 

But what could Clark ever be afraid of?   
  
  
  
  


**To be continued...**


	11. Whenever You Call

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Eleven - Whenever You Call   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Clark thinks, then realizes.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: I can't thank you guys enough for the support!! I love coming back to new reviews :) !!   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Thanks once again to Lyle Brown: 

Lyle: "It's like poetry."   
Me: "Oh!"   
Lyle: "Ridiculous, _stupid_ poetry."   
Me: "Oh." 

*lol*   
Seriously though, I appreciate the betas. 

* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 11: Whenever You Call**

_---"No, don't leave, please."---_

"Shhh," he whispered to Lex, ignorant to the fact that he lay on his stomach asleep in his bed. In his mind, in his _dream_, he was far from the farm, still with Lex in the castle, still in the office feeling guilty with each arduous step his presently clumsy friend took without the needed assistance. Still feeling Lex's soft mouth on his, seeing the agony he was causing with each backward retreat reflecting in Lex's gorgeous eyes. 

Still feeling the older boy's pain as his own because it was his own; anything and everything Lex felt was enigmatically communicated to him, extending the breadth of their union. Those dusky-blue eyes told Clark what he didn't want to know, showed him what he didn't want to see. All Lex was asking, all he really wanted was to be close to Clark. 

_…lex…_

That was all that Clark wanted, too, but instead of being truthful about it, instead of being candid about his desires, he kept forcing himself to keep the otherwise unsought distance between him and Lex, a distance the afflicted young mogul kept trying to retract. 

_---"I need you."---_

The bastard was making it so damn hard to leave. 

_---"Please, Clark. I can't do this alone."---_

"Alone," he whispered again, still oblivious to his locale not to mention his body's rigid state. He shifted in bed, moaning as his hardening appendage stiffened a little more, the movement giving much needed friction to his hot member. "You're not alone, Lex." 

The Clark that was still in the office knew what was coming next. Only this time after Lex told him he couldn't breathe alone, could breathe without Clark, he wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to lie. He wasn't going to take the simplistic and less terrifying way out of things. 

Instead, he was going to cross the space between him and Lex, take his pale, hurting friend back to the couch and meet those pink lips with his own in a hard and rude kiss that would forever leave no thought unascertained. Lex would know his every hidden fear, would sense all of his secret cravings. Lex would tell him that everything was going to be okay and that there would in no way be anything to fear, for Lex could never, _ever_, hurt him. 

His hands unwittingly gripped the top of his mattress in anticipation being on the sofa with Lex, his hips gyrating a little and a hiss of breath escaping his parted lips. 

Before the dream Clark- his alter-ego and sometimes hero- could take a single step towards Lex, there was a knock at the office door, and his mother's voice filtered in from without. 

_…what's she doing here?…_

"Clark, honey?" 

The office scene gradually crumbled like a painting made of ash until he was back in his room, alone and depressed; a horny, teenage, alien feeling unclean and heavyhearted at the memoirs of what could have been. The factual recollection of the events slipped back into his brain and he recoiled as if someone had slapped him across the face with a brick. 

_…what did I do?…_

More like 'what didn't he do?'. And as if he didn't know. He had caused Lex, one of the most important and dear people in his world, pain. He'd made him miserable. 

He let a shuddery breath escape his lungs. "Fuck." 

"What?" came the worried voice from outside his door. 

He winced and changed his tone into the best simulation of sleepy confusion he could muster. "Uh, I said 'what', Mom." 

"Oh, oh, okay. Um, I'm sorry I woke you. It's just your father and I are going to bed-" 

He checked the clock. Sure enough. Nine thirty-ish. 

_…feels so much later…_

"-and we just wanted to… well…" 

The voice trailed off leaving words unsaid, but not unheard. They wanted to make sure that he was still in his bedroom, his _real_ bedroom. 

Clark hadn't said much during dinner, only lackadaisically listening to his mother and father talk about the upcoming farmer's market. There was supposed to be something new this Saturday that would help them with the farm work, but Clark had missed out on just what they had been discussing, not really paying attention to much of anything surrounding him. 

Instead he had concentrated on the shapes and colors of his food, the math homework he had due tomorrow, or the history paper due first thing next Monday morning. Anything to keep him from replaying the scene with Lex over and over in his mind, and it would work. For a few minutes, he would really delve into his thoughts on the verdant roundness of his peas, or the pure absurdity of the existence of numbers in general, or why he wanted to know the history of a land, of a world that wasn't his. 

But then Lex would come back, persistent as always and ready to be more. 

He had stood up, washed his dishes and returned to the table before noticing the looks of worry that both parents were giving him. He told them it was nothing, just Lana- 

_…I lied; I told them about the wrong heartache…_

-and excused himself, saying that he was going to bed. His parents said nothing, despite the fact that it was only five forty, and looked at each other, upset and confused, most likely feeling as helpless as he had when Lex had collapsed in his arms just days earlier. Then he made the turn to head upstairs instead of out the front door to the barn and he couldn't help but notice the complete transformation: happy, surprised expressions mixed with relief; what they must have felt as a remission of vexations. He couldn't meet their eyes as he headed up because he felt guilty, not only about worrying them so, but guiltier still because he knew once this thing with Lex was settled he'd be heading back out to ponder the stars. 

_…if it can be settled…_

"We just wanted to say 'goodnight'," his father's voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Goodnight Mom, Dad," he called out. He thought for the minutest of seconds. "I love you guys." 

His door opened a foot and his mother's head poked into the room, making him infinitely grateful that he was lying stomach _down_ on his bed. His father's head followed, popping in right above his mother's and Clark laughed at the sight. Both of his parents looked at each other, then back to him smiling nice, happy- 

_…there you go; you haven't made _everyone_ miserable today…_

-smiles and his mother wiggled her fingers at him. "We love you, too Clark. Goodnight." 

The door then closed and he sighed, content that at least his parents were happy, glad that something was benevolent for now. 

This mini-bliss lasted until he altered his position, the movement promptly reminding him of the hard bulge of his groin, begging for his attentions and ultimately bringing him back to the recollection of an arousing and expectant Luthor. 

Saturday, Lex had been honest, but also out of it; maybe unwilling but also _unable_ to stop himself from acting. Clark had found deepness with Lex's actions, but the motivations behind them might have been something completely different than an eagerness to be 'outed'; a more or less vigorous acquiescence to the moment instead of a well thought out decision to let the truth be known. It had been completely possible that maybe Lex had done something that he would have not done under other circumstances- 

_…is that a bad thing, though?…_

-and might by chance afterward regret. 

In the office, however… He didn't look like he regretted anything, looking so healthy and rejuvenated. With the exceptions of his weakened legs and strikingly straightforward eyes, he was the Lex Luther that Clark knew before the run had turned things so topsy-turvy. Strong, confident and aware; outgoing despite his minor disability. There was nothing frail or weak about him. 

_…except when he had been getting up…_

Well, there had been that moment, the moment that had scared Clark; the expression on Lex's face made him think that, possibly, the young man was still somehow locked inside of his nightmares, his exclusive shell of internal desolation. Then Clark had recognized the expression as one of pain and ran to help his friend to the couch. 

_…feeling lex so close…_

Finding a way that he could have the physical contact that he so craved without it seeming out of place had never been so easy. For the past two days- Sunday in particular; Monday was more of a dull blur- Clark had been worried about the physical condition, as well as the mental condition, of his friend. He had been at war with himself about coming to see Lex or calling him, but his emotions and hormones, his need to see with his very eyes the man that had lately become all his mind needed to focus on to crash and burn… It all overruled his common sense, and he had taken the first chance he could to head out to Luthor Manor, his mother allowing him to slip out before his chores or homework had even been thought of. 

So Clark had found an excuse to touch Lex, new parts of Lex that he'd never really touched before. He doubted that Lex had noticed the way his fingers had skimmed over the older boy's khakis, seeking the lean muscles beneath, but he couldn't tell. 

_…his eyes were so intense; the whole time never letting up…_

Clark had never seen Lex so guileless, so outgoing. So… admissible. The winsome look on Lex's face earlier, his hand on Clark's cheek, the incandescent blaze that Lex was not at all trying to conceal... It all declared loudly and unequivocally that Lex had given in, was not afraid, and though that should have probably calmed Clark, it just made him all the more worried. If Lex wanted him, really wanted him- 

_---"My soul is yours, Kent."---_

-and didn't ever hold anything back- 

_---"I need you."---_

-then how was Clark ever going to manage to stay away or succeed in saying 'no' without having to instantly disavow the words? How was Clark going to be able to look into those eyes that said everything and not want those lips under his ownership? 

_---"You were… vulnerable."---_

He winced as he recalled his bluntness. He hadn't missed Lex's shocked reaction to his use of the word, his sudden inability to stand without assistance, leaning into the desk at his side. 

_…his side…_

Where Clark should have been. He hated himself for being so afraid to touch Lex, but he knew that the proximity had been intoxicating, that standing so near had nearly lost him his self-control and convictions. 

_---"I'm sorry, Lex. I just... don't feel the same."---_   


***_*_*_*_***   


_…what a lie…_

**thumpthump… thumpthump…**

It was twelve thirty-five in the morning. Clark had forced himself to do his math homework and found that adding yet another level of frustration to his already completely warped disposition had not been as distracting as he'd hoped. Now instead of being mad at himself because of the way he'd treated Lex, he was mad at himself for not knowing why _x - y + v_ should equal _b _ when _a _ had the value of 14 and wasn't even a factor… 

_And_ because of the way he'd treated Lex. 

He still could not believe what he had done. What he had said. What he _hadn't_ said. 

_…lex doesn't believe it either, you know…_

"I know that," he whispered sleepily, his slurred words directed to the ceiling of his bedroom. "I know." 

**thumpthump… thumpthump…**

_…he never will believe it- and neither will you…_

He knew there was truth to this, knew that he might actually never be able to suppress what he was feeling for Lex. 

"People have been doing it for years," he said, his eyes drooping heavily. 

_…yes, people have…_

**thumpthump… thumpthump…**

"So what makes me so special?" 

_…I'm not a person…_

He mulled that over for a moment, a skeptic to this new angle of reasoning. Could these feelings for Lex actually be inhuman? Foreign to everyone but him? The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The emotions had to be abnormal, as deviant and inexplicable as they were. So overwhelming, so powerful, so completely- 

Taking him over. They were taking him over. 

_…not inhuman; lex felt the same…_

**thumpthump… thumpthump…**

"He did," and with that understanding, Clark dismissed the idea that humans could not feel the way he was about Lex. Maybe most people never got a glimpse at just what it was to pine this acerbically, yet feel the world surround you with possibility; to feel this empty and bursting in the same fleeting moment. Maybe most people didn't feel like they possessed the ocean's tides and authored the moon's phases when they shared a esoteric kiss with Lex Luther, but too many writers and artists had struggled to portray these exact excruciatingly provoking moments for him to discount their existences. 

Clark allowed his eyes to shut and concentrated, increasing the volume of Lex's consoling heartbeat. He'd been listening in serenity for half and hour, when the older boy had finally settled down to bed. Clark had searched him out with his new 'super-hearing' and heard him working on some paperwork. It had taken Clark more than an hour of math and periodically checking in on him before Lex finally went to bed, but the end result was more than worth it. At the same time the heartbeat succored him to slumber, it excited him. It felt so near and intimate, thrumming in his ears as if Lex's chest was beneath him. 

_…that's where I want him…_

He sighed, bringing his pillow around lengthwise and pressed his face into it. It was now his designated Lex. 

_…kinda smooshy…_

Laughing a little and feeling a tad bit better now that he could pretend, at least while his brain took it's recess, that neither he nor Lex were alone, he settled into a more comfortable posture and pulled the sheet tight to him, imagining that his head was on Lex's chest and the taut cover was Lex's lean arms enveloping him. 

He came so close to merciful sleep, where he hoped he'd have temporary liberation from his teenaged oppressions, but the heartbeat, Lex's lifeline and Clark's connection to that life, began to speed up. Clark listened, a little more alert than before, but still geared to slip off to his counterfeit freedom at any moment. 

"Clark," came the muffled whisper. It sounded as if Lex were speaking into a pillow and a small moan followed. 

Clark was up and getting dressed before the moan had completed its mere three second span, surprising himself with his readiness. It was as if he had been waiting for Lex to call for him, awaiting his name amongst the heartbeats. 

_…don't do it…_

He was just going to check up on Lex, that was all. 

_…you know that's not going to be all…_

Clark couldn't make himself care. Lex needed him and while his mind knew a million reasons to stay, his heart was looking for a single excuse to go. 

_…lex…_

Good enough. 

He grabbed his house key and nudged his boots on his bare feet, not bothering to tie them, even at superspeed. He snuck out of his room and sped down the stairs, walking out the front door and locking it behind him, knowing that both of his parents were asleep and soundly so. 

_…at least you've got _one _thing to not have to worry about…_

He heard the heartbeat start to pound harder, and he ran, taking the shortcut through the fields and eventually the woods, then squeezing himself through the bars of the front gate, pausing only the bend them back into shape. He didn't want to explain to anyone, especially Lex- 

_…it's part of the fear; a reason you should just go home…_

-how he had 'accidentally' reformed the security gate. 

He ran around to the side of the house until he saw the familiar shape of the elevated terrace that served as Lex's balcony. Below the terrace was a small gazebo-like area furnished with expensive-looking outdoor dining chairs and tables. 

Clark walked up to one of the columns supporting Lex's balcony and used his arm strength to pull himself up. He got to the rails that surrounded the terrace and pushed himself over it, flipping himself onto the balcony, and wondering how exactly he was going to go about actually getting into Lex's bedroom. He figured he could just break the knob then force Lex to accept his money to pay for a replacement. 

_…you'd be admitting to coming here in the first place; what happened to just checking up?…_

He walked over to the door and peered in, seeing Lex's blue sheets strewn haphazardly over the width of the sleigh bed. As Clark watched, the older boy rolled over onto his back and the sheets snaked around his bare feet, entangling him even further. With his hearing still in place he heard Lex's sharp inhalation, and no longer cared about breaking the knob. He grasped the brass handle and pushed down, surprised to find it turning smoothly in his hand, providing easy access to his troubled friend. 

_…has a gate, but doesn't lock his veranda door?…_

He was going to have to talk to Lex about using expensive safety precautions that his lifestyle afforded to him and, at the same time, _not _dismissing the task of a single locked door. 

The heartbeat stopped and he paused momentarily in alarm at the sudden silence, then Lex moved and he breathed in and out in relief. Though he tried, he could not open up his hearing, once again finding that now that he was in the room with Lex, his hearing had automatically returned to normal. He made a quick mental note to study this aberration later when he had the time and patience, then padded silently to the right side of the bed where the majority of Lex's body was sprawled. He stood above the sleeping figure, wanting to reassure but not wake. He placed a cool hand to Lex's tepid forehead and immediately, at just that single bit of mollifying pressure, Lex stopped moving. His scrunched up face went smooth and Clark's heart felt sore, knowing that had he not lied to his friend earlier that day, had he not resisted the sweet, gentle kiss that Lex had offered, none of this would be happening. Lex would be happier, and honestly, so would he. In less than three days he had become so tired of fighting his suddenly prominent emotions over Lex. He had too much else to think about, a question of lineage to ponder- 

_…exactly why you're fighting this mess with Lex…_

Oh, but he'd become tired of being afraid of Lex, too, afraid of him discovering his secret and… And… 

_…and _what _exactly?…_

He didn't know, couldn't even begin to rationalize the logic behind his fear. Lex would never betray him, would he? The loyalty deeply etched between the two felt permanent, imperishable. There was nothing that he wouldn't do to keep Lex safe and he felt sure that this was a mutual sentiment. 

Clark moved his hand from Lex's forehead to his cheek and the older boy snuggled into his hand, causing Clark's own heartbeat to jump in his chest. 

_…I miss the sound of him…_

Without thinking about his actions, he moved around to the empty half of the bed, toed his shoes off of his feet, pulled the covers up and slipped into the bed with Lex. His hand reached out to caress an arm, clad in a gray satin pajama top. Lex stretched luxuriously and mumbled Clark's name sluggishly, smiling. Seeing what his touch did to Lex stirred the heat- 

_…God, I'm in so damn deep…_

-in his stomach and he inched even further under the sheets. Without hesitation he slipped an arm around Lex's waist, the satin cool and glossy to his touch, and pulled the older boy's back to his front, careful not to wake him. 

_……………_

"Wow," he whispered, his mind unnaturally quiet and calmed. Everything in him felt alive and jubilant, radiant in comfort and a little disbelief in what he had been denying himself. 

_…denying yourself for a reason; what about the truth?…_

Lex in his arms, body pressed against his, sleek head under Clark's chin… That was the truth. The only thing that Clark could imagine feeling better than this was if the positions were reversed and he was the one being held. 

_…he hit you with his car; don't think he doesn't still suspect…_

He ignored his mind, wishing it would be as quiet as mere moments ago, and moved his hand from Lex's flat abdomen and let it travel up to his chest, searching for the familiar rhythm, the reason he had been drawn into the bed in the first place. He found that even with the other man in his arms he wanted that heartbeat to be a constant companion, to be in the background; his own personal soundtrack. 

_…think about what you're doing…_

Lex's body molded perfectly to his: he'd think later. 

Clark found the faint pulse with the tips of his fingers pressed against the light-hued material. He couldn't help but wonder if Lex's skin would be as smooth as the satin of his PJ's, and he had to refrain from slipping his fingers under the shirt to find out. Instead he entertained himself by remembering the sound of Lex's heart in his room and adding that to the tempo of the current ones- 

_…so soft and reassuring; it's deceptive…_

-he pressed his cheek to the top of Lex's head. This closeness was intoxicating, and the world was becoming hazy. A vague noise from downstairs registered briefly in his mind and he pulled out from his attention's emphasis on Lex long enough to realize that he had school tomorrow. 

_…I'll just stay awhile; just until he calms down…_

Clark ignored the fact that Lex was already completely sedated and practically purring. 

_…just until he calms down…_

Clark closed his eyes to the feeling of Lex's heartbeat beneath his hand. It felt so right, made him feel so damn whole. The hurt in his chest, the sorrow that had weighed him down, it was gone, and he felt like he could finally breathe, free from all restrictions that tied him down, including fear. 

_…this is dangerous; just leave now, while you still can…_

"Right." Though the constant back and forth of his indecisive mind was exasperating, and he was so close to slipping off again, he was lucid enough to know that he was fooling himself to think that he even had a choice anymore. Or that he'd ever had a choice. 

_…oh, God…_

This was it. Now that he was holding Lex in his arms the feelings were swelling his mind and heart brutally, and he knew that he couldn't stand another day without knowing that he could have this anytime, not just when Lex was troubled, ailed with some vexation or another, but when he was happy, when he was content, when he was libidinous and passionate. 

Clark swallowed at the last thought, and felt himself become a bit aroused at the last prospect. He would rather walk through a field of the glowing meteors than have to force himself, and Lex, through more abstinence of their sentiments. He wanted Lex. 

_…but what about…_

He would deal with everything a day at a time. He could no longer stay away because of something Lex 'might do'. If there was any indication of how their rocky and uncertain future together would form, it was the way the man in his arms had him feeling now. Anxious, but ready to take on whatever came his way. He'd try his best to keep the truth from Lex, but right now the warmth from Lex's body was spreading, permeating his skin, even through his layers of clothing, and the risk seemed undoubtedly worth it. 

He pronounced a silent prayer to whatever angel watched over him, hoping he hadn't hurt Lex too badly when he failed to return the feelings Lex had expressed earlier that day. He _did_ need Lex- 

_…do I ever…_

-no matter what he had tried to force himself or the older boy to believe. But that was over now. 

He shifted his body against Lex's so that his face was level with the back to Lex's head. "I'm so sorry, Lex," he whispered, brushing his lips up against the soft lobe that he wanted so badly to taste, but knew this was not the time. 

_…soon?…_

"I'm sorry." 

The man in his arms stirred and he tightened his grip on reflex. 

"Mmmm." Lex's moan of utter contentment and happy release vibrated through his entire body and he realized Lex was waking up. 

"Lex?" he asked quietly. He was surprisingly absent of any turmoil or anxiety at the fact that here he was, in the bed, about to be discovered. 

_…just have to wing it, I guess…_

That sounded fine to him.   
  
  
  
  


**...To be continued.**


	12. Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

  
TITLE: Absolution   
CHAPTER: Twelve - Fumbling Towards Ecstasy   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Smallville   
PAIRING: Lex Luther/Clark Kent.   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: Lex awakes.   
DISCLAIMER: WB and whomever else own this wonderfully cute show. I am merely borrowing characters to use in my own evil ways, and will return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)].   
FEEDBACK: Tell me what you think [even if it's gonna hurt] :)   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To all of the people who have stuck with this from the very first chapter, who have written wonderful reviews and emails and who have totally kept me on track and true to this story. I can't tell you how much your support means to me :) and how much that support is desired for the future two "books" in this little trilogy ;) {hinthint~stong enough?~hinthint}.   
*And, of course, thanks to my PITA beta reader, Lyle Brown!   


* * *

  
**ABSOLUTION**   


**Chapter 12: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy**

Lex felt as if he were floating to the surface, waking up when all he wanted to do was swim back to the bottom, to drown in his sleep, a dead rest with no thoughts, no images, nothing but a happy warmth that wrapped around him tightly. He knew the instant he awoke it would all vanish, leaving his heart hefty with the emotional baggage that his consciousness forced him to bear. Unfortunately though, this knowledge was not enough to keep him from drifting buoyantly towards the top, and he struggled to remember the last dream that had graced his presence, the last dream before everything had melted away in a cloud of cotton-candy perfection: sticky, sweet and surprisingly cozy. That last dream had left something tugging at his memory even through his blissful haze, and he tried desperately to grasp at the meaning. He could feel that it hadn't been a horrible dream, but it hadn't been favorable in any way. More unsettling than anything. 

_…wetness…_

Something to do with Clark, or the absence of him, and anything dealing with a outright lack of the boy just couldn't be good. Or maybe it wasn't necessarily an absence of Clark, but of something that made sense. An absence of reasoning, of logic. In any case, there was obviously something pestering him in the back of his subconscious, something very, _very_ important that he had forgotten, that he had to remember and soon because, well, it _was_ a problem. Not one that couldn't be solved- whatever it was, he was sure of that- but it was still a problem nonetheless. 

_…soreness, panic, fear? I'm never afraid so what the hell?…_

And then it was gone. The feelings of the dream, the emptiness, the slight unease caused by something weighty he couldn't recollect… Completely and utterly evaporated. Not permanently, as the question had yet to be answered, the problem yet to be solved, but it was still… Gone. 

_…why? why had it just-…_

Lex's mind quieted as he realized he felt at home for the first time in a very long time. The bliss that had been permeating his every square centimeter now completely enveloped him, leaving him warm and content and… Perfect. He felt perfect. No doubt, no questions, no emotional desolation. Everything just seemed to fit. 

He was in someone's arms and they cared. 

_…clark…_

"I'm so sorry, Lex." It was coming through a distorted tunnel, sounding vaguely bloated and echoed, but still he knew the voice. He would know that voice even if it said not a word and he were deaf to the rest of the mortal milieu. 

_…clark…_

He felt something tickle his ear. "I'm sorry." The voice was regretful but still curiously happy and relaxed. Lex started to turn around, wanting to see the young man who held him, when an arm gripped him tight, not menacingly, but in a comforting, affectionate grip. He let out a mixture of a moan and a yawn. 

"Lex?" 

He opened his eyes halfway and scanned his brain, trying to remember why exactly Clark was in his bed. Then it hit him: he was still in dreamland. 

_…I actually thought this was real? yeesh…_

He sighed, disappointed, but decided to make the best of it. Not turning around to see the boy behind him for he feared he'd wake himself, Lex recessed his eyelids and pushed himself back into the apparition, but the apparition didn't budge and his eyes popped back open, surprised. 

_…feels real…_

The apparition used it's elbow to lock Lex in closer- 

_…feels strong…_

-and he noticed that there was warm pressure on his chest. 

_…feels good…_

He looked down to see a hand there, a familiar hand, one of the two that had previously wiped away his tears. He grimaced thinking of the burden that he had unintentionally placed on his friend's shoulders. The weight of those tears was an onerous responsibility that no one else would have had the courage or capacity to face, let alone the strength. But Clark had taken on the task without question of his ability, without the doubt of his own dependability.__

_…just like kent…_

"Hi." 

His heart sputtered heavily. "Hi." He felt his lips move but he couldn't hear the word over the ringing in his ears. 

Clark shifted a little against him, just a small movement made to allow more comfort for them both, movement desirous of a closeness that seemed impossible. He could feel Clark breathing, his chest adding sweet pressure on Lex's back on the inhale, then releasing as the boy exhaled, dolorously removing the taut proximity. He felt a cool foot rub against his, still annoyingly covered in gauze, leaving his skin feeling destitute for the lack of sensorial stimulation. Groggily, he looked down to glare at the gauze and saw the intricate twists and turns of the sheets, wondering briefly how they had become so snarled around his legs. 

There was another inhale against his back- 

_…he's so real…_

-and Clark sighed, leaving the hot breath to cascade up and down Lex's head and neck, a tingling sensation following the balmy air. His heart leapt again, respiration heavier than before. 

"Calm down, Lex." The sweet reassurance was uttered with breathless articulation, and he could sense the ardor heavily lacing Clark's tone. "Everything's fine." 

"I know." He took a deep, melancholy breath- 

_…I just wish you were really here…_

-and let it out slowly, trying to push himself impossibly closer and almost whimpering in failure. 

_…so goddamned needy…_

He slipped one of his sore, gauze-clad feet in between Clark's calves, wincing a little at the pain caused by the blisters, but not removing it for a lack of the intimate touch would be far more painful. Walking around earlier that day, moving around _at all_ with those sore feet, had not been wise. Marcy had warned him of how to get around, but did he listen? No. One chance at a moment with Clark and he threw all caution aside, no longer caring about consequences entailing somatic ailments. 

_…still- since when do your dreams have _physical_ pain?…_

Lex ignored this peculiar thought as Clark's other hand, painfully absent from his body for far too long, slipped between Lex and the bed, coming around to hold his waist. He smiled, his lips forming the outline as if it were natural to his multitude of facial expressions instead of the rare occurrence that it was. 

_…he's so close…_

"Don't you want to know why I'm here? How I got-" 

"Shhh…" He'd learned from experience that the moment you started talking to your dreams they disappeared. At least the good ones did, and this was a good one, a really, _really_ good one that was worth _never _waking up from. 

Clark cleared his throat. "Um…" 

_…for a dream he's not very obedient…_

"Shush." But it was too late, Lex was finally breaking the surface of reality and he could feel the sanctified fog slipping away. With it he was sure Clark would go, but as he opened his eyes waiting for the pressure to cease it… 

Didn't. 

_…he's still here…_

He frowned as his awaking senses increased his awareness of the pressure of the forearm under his waist, of the sweater's rough knit-material rubbing into his back through the thinner material of his satin PJs, his foot throbbing with the pain of those damned irritating blisters, taking away from the otherwise unadulterated and boundless moment. 

He was waking up and, instead of slipping away, Clark's presence was becoming ever more prominent. "What the-" 

"Lex?" Soft. Sweet. Still there. 

He was wary to turn around, to answer the boy, to do anything but just sit there and listen to silence. Afraid to do anything but feel the chest rise and fall against his back, afraid to even breathe or blink. 

"Listen, I-" 

"Clark," he whispered, realizing that his throat was severely parched. In seconds it had gone from normal to void of all moisture. 

"Yeah?" 

"Are you-" he swallowed. "Are you really in my room? In my-". Dare he say it? "Bed?" 

The was a pause. 

"Clark?" His voice was no stronger, but the need evident beneath was steadily intensifying. 

"Yes." 

He shut his eyes tightly. 

_…sure, whatever; what dream wouldn't say that?…_

Lex had never, not once in his entire 23 years, had a problem distinguishing his waking moments from his dozing ones. Even with his nightmares, though they'd been horrible, he'd never once thought he'd awoken only to find himself still trapped within one. 

_…what about the field; that felt so real when it was happening…_

Could this be another rendition? He didn't think he could take having the dream Clark promise him what the real Clark could not, and wondered how long it would take a fevered Luther brain to breach the sector of the insane. If this kind of thing kept happening, he might well find out and soon. 

He took a deep breath, unsure of how to proceed. There were a million questions running around in his mind, but none of them seemed to matter to his heart. "Are you sure?" 

"Pretty sure." Amusement painted the tone, the breath heating his ear. 

Lex was more than confused. This couldn't be real. In the office, Clark was so- nervous, scared, unsure. Afraid of Lex, even. But the Clark here, the Clark holding him now, had the disposition of the one from his dream: confident, sure, with obvious affection swirling within the tones of his voice. This was the Clark from his dreams, no doubt, the one that could save him, that had already saved him once and would continue to do so. When would the real boy, the one that he loved- 

_…shit…_

-become the one that could hold the responsibility of a pale, bald, lost little boy in his hands; could hold the love for a callus man who was working on becoming more in his heart? Lex wasn't sure, but hoped that it was _before_ the duality of his dreams and his life drove him over the brink. 

_…love…_

So he could admit it to himself, at least. It hadn't taken much on Clark's behalf to leave Lex befuddled and searching desperately for the tiny organ he referred to as his heart, searching for a reason for that organ's sudden vertical leap in production. 

Clark genuinely cared, despite his own father's obvious objections. He smiled at Lex with no falsity, worried about his safety with no ulterior motives, joked with him and chose to speak to the Luther when they crossed paths in town. All in all, Clark acted as if he wanted the older boy's company and Lex, not used to this kind of treatment, had done the only thing his pint-sized heart could comprehend doing: he had fallen hard and hadn't even realized it until Clark had saved him from himself. 

So was Clark here to save him from something again? Loneliness perhaps? 

"Lex?" 

He swallowed. "I'm here." The hand over his heart began to move, massaging his chest in slow, soothing circles, a touch so real it was dizzying, causing quivers all over. Surely Clark felt this same electricity. Could the sensations mean that everything was really happening? It seemed so… surreal, but in a strangely authentic way. 

_…the cold and the warmth; they felt real, too…_

He remembered both, doubting he'd ever forget the strange and emotionally exhausting mental trek that had accompanied them. But the touch, the amazingly tangible touch… It was still there, adding another level to the illusion of the moment, and he pushed the thoughts of his previous dream out of his mind. 

It all felt so real and he was completely ready to fall, despondently fortunate, into that false reality when an idea came sprinting home, and Lex's mind reeled from the sudden insight.__

_…there's one thing that a dream can't duplicate, one thing that nothing on earth could compare to…___

_---so sweet, so passionate, so hot---___

_…Clark's kiss…_

Of course. Clark's kiss was how he would be able to tell the moment from self-deception. Lex inured his courage, finding himself both the need to know if this was a dream and the need to let the moment _just be_. If he didn't actually know, he could stay there content, could always just wonder… At least until the urgency for truth became searing, and he knew it eventually would. 

He really had no choice here. He didn't _want_ to know, but, instead, had to. 

Resolved, he started to turn in Clark's arms and at first they gripped him tighter on instinct- 

_…what a wonderful instinct…_

-then released an amount of pressure large enough to allow him limited movement, but small enough that the boy's arms still maintained their possessive qualities in purchase, making Lex smile broadly. He was now a possession. For once in his life he allowed this to be. The kind of possession he was to Clark was so unlike his father's in every aspect; it was the good kind, the only kind. 

He took his aching foot from between Clark's calves, moving to face the boy, sliding around a little awkwardly, not wanting to break the embrace. It took him a moment to realize that Clark wouldn't let that happen, seeming to need the fond display as much as he did. 

_…can a manifestation _need_ anything?…_

Still not daring to look into those deep azure eyes that were level with his, he brought himself all the way around and placed his hands on the chest before him, damning the paws as they trembled. 

_…his heart; I can feel it and it's pounding, but the point is I can actually _feel_ his heartbeat…_

Clark's right hand slid slowly from Lex's waist where it had been holding him close, up the entire span of Lex's back, letting the fingers feel him out, then over his shoulder and down his arm. The satin was thin enough that he could feel the pressure as if the shirt had magically dissolved from the heat of Clark's caress, or possibly the frenzied hopelessness of his own imploration, leaving a path of happy body parts, and the rest of his form screaming out in jealousy for the same kind of sensual union. 

Clark's rustic fingers grazed the back of Lex's left hand, stroking each finger slowly, calming the shakes. Lex couldn't stop himself from looking up into the boy's heated stare. 

_…jesus, kent…_

Heat. Heat and lust and concern and so many other forthright emotions that Lex could hardly bare the cumbersome density of such and intense stare. His emotionally inefficient life had not prepared him for such a human, and he wasn't even sure he could identify every emotion swimming through the sea in Clark's eyes. The look did nothing to further Lex's convictions that this was a dream, nor did it convince him that it was real. There was assurance in those eyes, no anxiety or fear, the confidence he'd yet to see in the real Kent. But then again the endearing shyness that Lex had become accustomed to was more than evident, and so was the eroticism that had been absent from the reverie of the field. 

That fusion of shyness and blatant desire was what gave Lex the strength to move on his test, the courage to attempt his method of descrying the truth. 

_…like a Band-Aid: the quicker, the better; less pain that way…_

Instantly he found himself pressing against those familiar lips, unsure of whether the startled cry emitted was his own or belonged to the kid on the other end of the kiss. His eyes were clenched tight from both bliss and fear: the bliss of what could be and the fear of what might not. If this wasn't Clark, if this wasn't real… There was only one way to find out and, trembling, he parted his dry lips, chest heaving out a stale sob of worry and utter surrender. He forced down a second sob and moved his face in closer to Clark's, incidentally nuzzling noses, and he pulled at Clark's soft, lush bottom lip with both of his own. 

_…let it be clark, please…_

The lips parted beneath his silent request and Lex felt the heat burst through his torso as Clark entered his mouth, hot and sweet and fierce in a beautiful way that let the Luther know that he was not alone, that he could give in to the moment because- 

_…oh, clark…_

-yes, this was the Clark that could save him, but it was also the _real_ Clark. They were the same, they were one, and they, no _he_, he was in Lex's bed, intensely claiming ownership of the mouth that had only wanted to know if he was true, if he was bona fide. How he got here, why, when… None of it mattered and yet it all did. Inquiries exploded through Lex's mind, worries and pleasures, things he wanted to do and things that he _needed_ to do. Questions that needed to be asked and answered by both of them… 

He laughed, noticing that sometime in between his thoughts Clark's hand had moved to the back of his head, firmly holding him into the kiss. The laugh didn't stop Clark's passionate display, and Lex realized that the eager boy felt he had to prove to his companion that there was something between the two of them, that the hurtful words spoken earlier in the day had been untrue, a phonetically mendacious assertion. 

Clark's abysmal growl caught Lex's attention by virtue of it being distinguishable as one not of passion but of frustration; he didn't think he was getting his point across. 

_…oh, is he ever…_

Lex's hands, still in contact with the athletic chest, gently pushed against Clark, but the farmboy let out another deeper growl, clearly stating 'no, not yet', and pulled him closer, his tongue thrusting deeper and harder. Lex could do nothing but try to take the kiss in, try and let the fervid and flustered young man know that he understood, that he got it, but there was an impassioned desperation within Clark. This was his apology, the only way he knew how to communicate his feelings for Lex and his anguish over what he had said- 

_---"I'm sorry, Lex. I just... don't feel the same."---_

-and done. 

_…he won't walk out on me again; that's what he's trying to tell me…_

Lex broke away abruptly, gasping for air and looked at the tired, raven-haired beauty in front of him, the blue eyes of his home, of his haven, sad and longing. The kid still didn't realize how clear he'd been. 

Clark looked to Lex's lips and made a move to pull him closer, to kiss him again, but Lex put a hand to the boy's mouth, covering it. "It's okay," he whispered. "I understand. It's okay." 

Clark winced and his breath hitched. "You can't understand, Lex," he whispered vehemently, and Lex's heart felt pained at the solitude he thought he saw shining in those eyes, made prominent by the starlight. 

"I do." He traced the outline of Clark's mouth slowly with a shaky thumb. "You were afraid. You didn't know what to do." 

The lonely eyes looked down. "I shouldn't have left y-" 

"It happens to everyone. Even you, hero." 

Lex's heart felt a little happier as Clark's lips turned slightly upward underneath his fingertips. 

"Lex, I-" 

"I know." His hand traversed to feel the soft cheek of his angel. "I know." 

Clark sighed and ducked his head under Lex's chin, his hand behind Lex's head skimming back down to hold his waist. "Thank you." 

"Are you kidding me? Thank _you_." 

The farmboy's arm tightened and he snuggled into Lex's neck, leaving the Luther surprised at how a mere moment ago, _he_ had been the weak one craving solace. Now it was Clark who was nestling into him, the obvious neediness making Lex feel a little stronger, a little more competent. To see that Clark found him as essential as he discovered the boy to be… 

Lex felt his eyelids once again growing heavy and he felt a contentedly despairing sigh coming on. He just wanted to lie here awake and watch the boy slumbering peacefully and amazingly within his grasp. He was no longer afraid that this was not real, no longer afraid that Clark would suddenly disappear. The kiss had dispelled him of two worries: one, that this was his imagination torturing him and two, that Clark would run again. 

No, he just wanted to watch that face, to feel that body. To see the unattainable living in possibility. 

"But can I?" he whispered sarcastically, his words blurring together a little. "No. My body needs _rest_." 

Clark mumbled something, the sleepy reply rendered mostly obscure by Lex's shirt covering his mouth and Lex laughed at the incomprehensible mesh of words, the only thing coherent being his name. 

_…this is my sadness now? not being able to watch Kent fall to sleep in my arms?…_

His heart swelled in exhilaration as he figured that he could learn to deal with that kind of suffering. 

Smiling sleepily, he let his hand roam through the silky, black hair beneath his fingertips just as he'd wanted to do so desperately in his office. 

_…this is nice…_

He felt his mind stirring up questions, questions that would leave a bad taste in his mouth, or a scared flutter to his stomach, and he knew the inquiry, the problem that he had been dreaming about… He knew it was lurking somewhere very close. 

He ran his hand through the hair again and Clark's appreciative croon drove any and all quandary out of his mind. He tightened his arms around Clark's broad back and inhaled the farmboy's clean scent. 

Questions were for tomorrow, for the morning. Tonight was simple, was just for them without dispute or inquisition. 

_…just for this…_   
  
  
  
  
  


**The End of Absolution - Book One: The Beginning**   
**Will be continued in Absolution - Book Two: Middle Ground**   
~~please don't hate me~~   
**:)**


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